The elevator
by Marjorie Nescio
Summary: A Viscount, a Queen. An anxious Head of Security. Author's note August 2013: it's been too long since the last update, but I have not forgotten this story. It will not remain in-progress forever.
1. Introductions

This story takes place before Princess Diaries 1. Queen Clarisse is a widow and reigns as Queen Regent.

~The elevator~

Chapter 1 – Introductions

Imagine you are on a train. You like none of the travellers in your compartment. There is an adult female with Mickey Mouse socks and a man who smells after tobacco. There are also two schoolgirls, who are giggling all the time, probably at your expense, and an old man who thinks aloud when solving his puzzle.

Then the train comes to a stop and the train's guard announces that there is a technical problem. It takes nearly an hour to solve it and all the while the train just stands there, in the middle of nowhere.

You must have been there once or twice. Am I right in thinking that when you left the train your feelings towards your fellow travellers had changed? True, you might not invite them for your birthday party or exchange phone numbers, but well, you know what I mean. The woman wearing the Mouse socks had a nice sarcastic sense of humour, and Mr Tobacco didn't start throwing things for not being able to smoke for such a long time. The old man had an impressive vocabulary - not in a sailor's way mind you - and the schoolgirls shared their candy.

Of course, there is a chance that you would have made it to the front page: 'Passenger kills five travellers.'

But that would be a very small chance.

Now we are getting to the story: introducing a Viscount, a Queen and an elevator.

The Viscount is fully aware of his own importance. Among the men he associates with, he is the natural leader. He can be charming to women, but he feels that they shouldn't bother being anything else but servants, lovers or breed mares.

The Queen is intelligent, beautiful, and every inch the lady.

The elevator, well... What can I say about an elevator? This one doesn't work.

And two Genovians are about to find out.


	2. It's her!

Chapter 2 – It's her!

On the 14th floor of a first class London hotel a large man stepped out of a meeting room. He knew that the businessmen he had just left would start arguing among themselves.

He would go to his suite, stare out of the window and return in a quarter of an hour to strike when they were divided.

Or so he _planned_ to do...

He walked into an elevator while playing with his pen (a habit of his when he was in a good mood). From the corner of his eye he saw a lady and he was about to greet her, when his pen slipped between his fingers. When he picked it up, he took the opportunity to study the woman's legs. They were long and elegant.

As he straightened himself, he noticed shapely hips and a tailor cut coat that tried to hide its owner's bosom.

Then: a familiar face.

´Viscount.´

´Majesty!´

Knowing she'd caught him, he made a show of looking around.

´Your bodyguard left you? I always felt that the man didn't do a good job.´

´Are you applying for the function Viscount?´

´I have better things to do ma'am.´

´I doubt it not Viscount.´

The Viscount found pleasure in the fact that _she_ looked at the level-indicator first.

´I will get out on the 24th floor, ma'am, you need not tolerate my company much longer.´

´I have to disagree, it seems we are stuck here.´

Mabrey looked up. She was right.

´Well, we'll continue soon enough I'd say,´ he replied.

Ten seconds later he grabbed the alarm phone to report (in a rather impolite way, I'm sorry to say) that the elevator wasn't working. When he broke the connection he found that the Queen had seated herself on a tip-up seat that had been hidden in the wall. She adjusted her skirt, and informed him that there was another seat. He sat down.

´How unfortunate that your men lost sight of you.´

´Fortunately you do not mean me harm,´ she remarked.

He coughed. ´Why are you alone?´

The smallest movement of her eyebrow and he heard himself add ´ma'am´.

_They'd better repair the bloody elevator soon or I´ll disrespect myself._

´Perhaps my guards thought that I wanted to be left alone.´

´It's reassuring to know that the Genovian taxes are spent on such well trained protectors.´

´I am glad we agree on that,´ she smiled.

He snorted.

´I hope you don't mind Viscount, but this would be a good time for me to read a letter I just received.´

She opened her bag and produced an envelop and her glasses.

He watched her read. There was a smile on her face that was alarmingly charming.

´The writing seems to be amusing. A friend?´

´Yes, a friend,´ she replied, still reading. She turned the page.

´Do I know him?´

´Subtlety is a gift, don't you agree Viscount?´

He didn't like this at all. What was that perfume she was wearing? He stood up. The sound of the seat banging against the wall startled him, but she didn't seem to notice it.

Now that he could look down at her, he felt better.

´The man who picked up the phone said he would send someone to repair the elevator.´

She looked up and removed her glasses.

´How appropriate. I am sure the problem will soon be solved.´

The phone rang. Mabrey picked it up.

´Yes?´

He listened.

´My name is Mabrey. Viscount Mabrey.´

He listened.

´Yes, Her Majesty is here as well.´

The Viscount gave the phone to the Queen.

´Hello?´

She listened.

´I am sure of that.´

She listened.

´We will be fine Mr Dalgiesh,´ she assured the hotel manager.

She listened.

´Hello Joseph.´

She listened.

´Yes I am fine. And do not blame the guards. I will explain later.´

She greeted her Head of Security. Handing the phone to the Viscount she told him that solving the problem could take a while.

´Well, at least I am in charming company.´

The Queen hoped that Mabrey's words were not proof that they were running out of oxygen. She flashed him a smile.

He sat down again, convincing himself that he'd been referring to his _own_ charming company.

The Queen had returned her attention to her letter. He felt like distracting her.

´It's a rather long letter, isn't it?´

´Yes, it is.´

´Your... friend didn't write in a long time, I suppose, for having so much to tell you.´

´We write each other often.´

Mabrey tried to come up with something insulting. To make her feel uncomfortable, his eyes roamed her body. The Queen ignored him and enjoyed her letter.

Half a page later she laughed. Despite himself, the sound made the Viscount swallow.

´This friend of yours must be quite an entertainer,´ he spit.

´I wouldn't call her an entertainer,´ she replied, masterly ignoring his tone of voice, ´but she writes lovely letters.´

_She?_ ´Tell me, what _do_ women write each other about? It can't be about business or politics or something like that.´

´Can it not?´

´It is a theory of mine that women can't be truly interested in anything that doesn't involve their children, their house or their wardrobe.´

´Children house wardrobe.´

The Queen got a notebook and a pen from her bag and noted the words down. ´I will write my friend about it. It will make her smile.´

She tilted her head. ´Or even laugh! Thank you Viscount.´

Mabrey checked if the phone was still on the hook and cleared his throat.

´The fact that you just wrote that down, proves my point.´

´If that thought makes you happy, I will not for the world counter with it.´

´A man would not have given me a flimsy answer like that ma'am.´

Instead of replying, she quickly wrote down something.

´We men write about grand things.´

´Oh?´

The last pages of the Queen's letter slipped from her lap. Mabrey picked them up and handed them to their owner, after checking for a signature.

´B something?´

´It _is_ a rather large B is it not? I suppose I can't blame you for accidentally spotting it.´

´Do I know this _lady_?´

´You have been introduced to her once.´

´Did I like her?´

´I doubt it: she does not hide that she is intelligent.´

The Viscount found that the cat had eaten his tongue.

He tried to come up with a subject, but the silence lasted until the Queen, folding her friend's letter, said that being locked in an elevator _did_ give a nice break in a busy schedule.

´But now you just want to leave isn't that so ma'am?´

´Knowing we are between floors twenty and twenty-one, I would much rather stay.´

Silence.

_She_ didn't seem bothered with it, but _he_ felt uncomfortable. Her perfume was everywhere and he was vividly aware of her fifty-nine year old body half a metre to his right.

It was so quiet he could hear his watch ticking.

´You were at the Tison museum last week,´ the Viscount finally said, sounding accusing.

´Indeed I was. I opened it.´

The Viscount cleared his throat.

´I saw you speak to Henri Lasalle, the jazz composer.´

He stared into the Queen's sparkling eyes.

´I _can_ and _will not_ deny that Viscount.´

_The way that woman can say 'Viscount', Mon Dieu._

The Queen moved her hand over her left upper leg, removing a bit of fluff from her skirt.

´You recognising Mr Lasalle,´ she remarked, ´makes me think that you like jazz.´

_Lord have mercy and make that elevator run again. Jjjjjjaaaaaaaaazzzzzzzzzz._

´Viscount?´

He coughed. ´Yes I do. I do like... that music.´

´So do I.´

The phone rang. The Viscount answered it. This time he was polite. He asked redundant questions and told Mr Dalgiesh that both Her Majesty and he himself were fine.

´It will take ten minutes at most,´ he told the wall after he broke the connection. Before the Queen could reply, he continued: ´Many decades ago, when you were young, jazz music was very popular.´

_She nods! And I said it in an insulting way. Damn that woman!_

´My father thought me to enjoy it. His old jazz albums are now mine.´

He stood. He needed to tower over her. Besides, his back ached.

_Why doesn't she slouch? Why does she have to sit so upright, so graceful? Why doesn't she have claustrophobia? Bitch!_

Her voice rang in his ears again.

´Pray tell me Viscount, who are your favourite jazz performers?´

Arthur Mabrey figured he'd come up with _something_ that would anger her soon enough, and he answered her question. Seven minutes later - he had seated himself again - they were comparing versions of 'April in Paris'.

When the elevator came to life again, the sound of which filled a pause in their conversation, he said: ´Thank God! Finally!´

He stood in front of the doors when they opened, making clear that he was anxious to get out. When he noticed that there was a gap between the elevator and the floor, he offered his arm to help the Queen out, just to show that he was a gentleman.

The Queen's Head of Security glared at him suspiciously. Mr Dalgiesh started apologising and the Queen had a hard time reassuring him she neither had hard feelings towards him, nor to the hotel.

´Both the Viscount and myself are fine, Mr Dalgiesh,´ she insisted.

The nobleman was strangely pleased that she, unlike the manager, acknowledged him.

´Indeed we are,´ he added his voice to hers.

The manager now apologised to him as well and the Head of Security pushed the button for another elevator.

´Mr Dalgiesh,´ the Queen greeted the manager.

´Viscount,´ she nodded. ´You really should give Rosemary Clooney a chance.´

It wasn't the woman's charm that made him return her smile, but Romero's surprise when hearing the Queen talk to him like that. What else?

´I will ma'am. Good day.´


	3. Parliament and a play

Chapter 3 – Parliament and a play

Arthur, Viscount Mabrey, talked to his peers, while waiting for the Queen to arrive in the House of Parliament.

It would be the first time he'd see her after their London encounter.

He expected nothing less than that she would turn out to be a cold, icy... iron... cold and unattractive bitch, without charm and with as much wit as a rabbit in a stew-pan.

When Her Majesty entered, the MPs rose.

Did she just give him a small nod? Mabrey pretended not to have noticed it and turned to his neighbour and party-member, Lord Martin, whom he didn't like, to wish him luck on proposing a motion.

The Minister of Infrastructure, who had to face Lord Martin, had a full fortnight's experience on the job, whereas Martin held his seat in Parliament for over eight years, six of which he'd spent as the spokesman for infrastructure.

Martin skilfully made his point about toll free highways and it seemed that the liberals were going to support him.

The Minister started to sweat.

When a servant handed him a note, the Minister, after reading it, sighed with relief and turned to his right, inclining his head.

The Members of Parliament turned their gaze left.

Her Majesty found it cute: a settled Minister would not have thanked her this openly. She wondered how long it would take before Mr Capet would change.

With the remark the Minister read from the Queen's note, it was now Lord Martin who had to defend his point. But the Minister let his advantage slip and it didn't take long before another note found its way to the grateful beginner.

Knowing he couldn't refute what was voiced by the Minister, Lord Martin retreated. Custom demanded that he'd greet his opponent before returning to his seat, but instead of addressing Mr Capet, he turned towards the Queen.

'Your Majesty.'

It made his party-members think that he had won the game. Wasn't it capital how Martin made a fool of that upstart?

Mabrey watched the Queen. She ignored the suppressed laughter Martin's remark caused and gave Mr Capet a brief reassuring smile. It made the Minister sit straight.

OoOoOoO

Later on, in the gentlemen's club frequented by several noble born politicians, Lord Martin complained about being sent back empty handed by a thirty-five year old who had been a mere university research-worker a month ago.

'You were sent back empty handed by a politician with forty-one years of experience,' Lord Picard replied.

Mabrey found himself nodding. It took Martin a little longer to understand Picard's remark.

'Haha, Louis, you old fox,' he finally said. 'You're right, you know? You're right. Bloody good remark.'

He raised his third glass of brandy.

´To Her Majesty, who looked positively lovely today!´

´She still defeated you Michel, whether you call her lovely or not,´ Picard laughed, raising his glass. Martin chose not to hear him.

Mabrey found himself smirking.

OoOoOoO

Being on the Royal Genovian Playhouse's board of recommendation, Viscount Mabrey was always invited for RGP's opening nights.

RGP was the nation's leading theatre group, but Mabrey wouldn't recommend seeing their performance of Coward's _The vortex_ to his friends.

When the polite applause faded away, Mabrey headed for the foyer.

He exchanged greetings with his acquaintances, none of whom seemed inclined to review the play. The 1 -1 result of the soccer match Genovia – Austria, that had been played while the Lancasters held the stage, _was_ discussed by the gathered elite.

The Viscount noticed the Queen. A circle had formed around her, with the theatre's director and the principal actors, RGP's director and the costume designer.

Mabrey smirked. _That woman will prove a hypocrite of course. No doubt she enjoyed the play _tremendously_. And if she really _did_, it means she's an idiot. Let's find out._

He took a drink from a passing servant's tray and slowly walked towards a picture that hung near the Queen. It showed the final scene from RGP´s renowned performance of _Hamlet_. Mabrey had a lot to look at.

´You have played Lady Capulet, Miss Cadalso,´ Her Majesty said to the leading actress.

´Tell me, does playing in beautiful 1920's dresses,´ she smiled at the costume designer (who inclined his head and blushed with pleasure), ´enable you to do more for a character than when you have to wear monumental medieval gowns?´

The actress, a very confident woman, found that standing eye to eye with the Queen was more impressive than she had told everyone it would be. She answered Her Majesty, although without her usual flourish.

The Queen had a question to ask to all surrounding her.

Her enthusiasm for the costumes was genuine. She knew a lot about the subject, and everyone relished her remarks.

She asked the director about his approach to _The vortex_ compared with _Relative values_, another Coward he had directed.

The actor playing Nicky was confronted with the question whether his character would have behaved differently had his father been the unfaithful spouse, with a lover half his age.

The young man stammered through his reply, in awe for the Queen and distracted at having heard her say 'lover'.

When Miss Cadalso commented her colleague's opinion, Mabrey turned around and greeted the Queen and those surrounding her.

´How did you like the play ma'am?´ he asked Her Majesty.

The Queen smiled and charmingly expressed her delight for the gay music that had accompanied the play. Before Mabrey could ask her again how she had liked the _play_, she said (and Mabrey felt that her voice now sounded just as it had in the elevator, although between you and me, it hadn't changed at all): ´You must have recognised the jazzy tones Viscount.´

The Playhouse's director almost nodded his head off, pleased to hear that the Queen had noticed what he felt to be an important contribution to his play.

The object of conversation then changed from music to musicals to travelling.

Part of Mabrey admired the way Her Majesty prevented having to talk about the play, and he didn't repeat his question.

OoOoOoO

The next morning many newspapers had a picture of the Queen on the front page, as she greeted the mayor of Pyrus, who had welcomed her on her arrival at the theatre.

Mabrey unwillingly admitted to himself that the woman _did_ look lovely. But then, who _wouldn't_ next to mayor Pimple Head?


	4. Glass

Chapter 4 - Glass

The Castle's Walk is a prominent Pyran street. It runs from the Grand Square to the Castle's outer wall.

Many avenues have or had their awkward back streets and the Walk (as it is called for short) makes no exception: there's an alley between the Walk and the Wall called Bonnie's Close.

The name has a Scottish touch and guides like to tell their flock that many centuries ago their was a beautiful courtesan named Bonnie of Edinburgh who controlled every brothel in town. ´And these,´ a guide will say, vaguely waving an arm towards the narrow houses, ´were her head-quarters.´

I don't know if the whole Bonnie story is true, but it has been told for so long now, that it is accepted as part of the Pyran history.

Documents dating back to the 16th century prove that there _were_ brothels in the Close even then. The fact that many courtiers, princes and even Kings visited the small street to enjoy themselves, never found its way to official writings. But novelists have had a lot of virile blue blooded men sneak off the Castle's grounds to find relief in Bonnie's.

In the 1930's the whores were forced to leave the Close. For forty years it was a quiet little street. Then a goldsmith settled there. She was followed by a frame-maker, a hatter, a lingerie shop, a portraitist, a dressmaker, an exclusive linen-draper's shop, a tea-room, a jeweller, a china shop and several galleries. Surprisingly, they all survived.

The Close nowadays is a street that graces the city.

After telling tourists about the goldsmith's refined work, the awards the dressmaker has won and other trivia, the guides never fail to tell that Her Majesty can occasionally be found in the Close, to see if the galleries have something worth purchasing. I am sure you can imagine that people turn their heads at that point in the story, to check if the Queen happens to be near.

OoOoOoO

Had the Close still been the domain of common whores, then Viscount Mabrey would not want to be seen there. He had to keep up appearances, didn't he?

But the Close was not a place to be avoided these days, especially not when you needed cuff-links.

Stepping outside the jeweller's, the door being held for him by the owner himself, the Viscount wondered what to do. He looked left. He could take the short cut to the House of Parliament, where his car was parked. He looked right. It was a nice day, he could go down Bonnie's Close to Queen Anne's fountain and return to Parliament via the Walk.

He inhaled and turned right.

He liked the luxurious surroundings. When he passed the tea-room, two working class women stepped outside. They had enjoyed the only luxury they could afford in this street: a cup of tea and a scone. The Viscount would make a bet that his cuff-links were worth at least a week of their wages. He grinned and charmingly greeted the women.

Ten metres further down the road, a handsome young man politely nodded at him.

Now, you can say a lot about Arthur Mabrey, but _not_ that he is stupid.

As if it was his intention from the start, the Viscount walked inside the long narrow shop in front of which the bodyguard, for that was what the young man was, was waiting.

OoOoOoO

He found himself in a shop slash gallery specialised in glass. On the ground floor glass-ware was shown and the first floor housed glass art.

A shop-assistant stepped towards him, but the Viscount waved his hand and said that he just wanted to look around. The assistant returned to a young lady who had all the characteristics of a bride.

White tea glasses, blue water glasses, green glass bells, brown oil-bottles, it was nothing short of an orgy. When he heard footsteps above him, he grabbed two glasses from a shelf and made it for the counter.

The assistant apologised to the bride, saying that he needed to help the gentleman.

´I am not in a hurry,´ the gentleman told the assistant, ´please help the lady first, I do not mind.´

The bride smiled at him and the assistant inclined his head.

Mabrey took his position at the counter, admiring the glass objects behind it. He hummed a tune. He was ever so relaxed. Just minding his own business, seeing this shop, remembering that he needed new glasses for his bathroom...

High heels on the stairs.

High heels on the floor. The bride gasped. Mabrey inhaled.

The gallery's owner greeted him politely and carefully placed a paper-weight on the counter.

Mabrey glanced at it. The object didn't seem remarkable. He looked to his left.

´Your Majesty. What a surprise to see you here!´

´Viscount.´

The owner didn't know how to proceed. The Queen noticed it.

´Do help the Viscount Mr Machado, he was waiting.´

´No, not at all ma'am. I have no appointments and I am not in a hurry. I am sure you have a busy schedule, as usual.´

The Viscount addressed the owner: ´Please sir, help Her Majesty first.´

Mr Machado was already searching under the counter for a box to pack the Queen's purchase into.

The Queen thanked the Viscount en nodded at her bodyguard, who then whispered something in his microphone.

´That is an... elegant paper-weight ma'am.´

The Queen raised her eyebrows, a sparkle in her eyes. ´It looks quite ordinary now, but it comes alive when the sun shines on it.´

She looked outside. The counter was placed at the back of the shop, but it received daylight through French windows that overlooked a small garden.

´There,´ Her Majesty said, when a cloud had passed the sun.

Green veins showed in the glass. They seemed to move, whirl.

´Just as I said,´ the Viscount stated, ´elegant.´

It didn't take long before the item was packed, wrapped, placed in a paper bag and paid for.

When the Queen stepped in her limousine (that had been driven to the front of the gallery), the bride expressed her delight in having seen the Queen 'live'.

Mabrey acted the man of the world. After all, he saw the woman on a regular basis. He talked to her more often, although usually not about paper-weights.

Unlike the bride, the shop-assistant and the gallery's owner, he, Viscount Mabrey, knew that Her Majesty's smiles and charm were all fake, but still, he appreciated good solid acting.

OoOoOoO

That night Arthur Mabrey woke up from a dream. _She_ had been at his place. They had talked about jazz. She had sat on his couch in her elegant way, sipping wine. When he bid her farewell, he had kissed her hand and he had waved at her car as it rounded the gate. He had _waved_! Mon Dieu.

He and _that woman_ could _never_ be on friendly terms. How _dare_ she invade his dreams?

He punched his pillow and fell asleep again.


	5. A good feel for creeps

Chapter 5 - A good feel for creeps

Sometimes you see someone and even though you don't know her (or him of course), you like her. It's the smile. Or the funny bracelet. Or the way she rolls her eyes at something, just when you were about to do the same.

Sometimes you see someone and though you don't know her (or him), you dislike her. It's the curve of the mouth. The annoying grin, the silly socks, the fact that she licks her lips after every other sentence.

OoOoOoO

The Head of Security of the Genovian Queen never wondered whether he liked someone at first sight or not. His prime objective was to determine whether someone was a threat.

Joe had first seen Viscount Mabrey in 1987. Allowing only two categories, he had had to place the nobleman in the 'not a threat' group. But privately he had added _yet_.

It was the contemptuous way Mabrey looked at the Queen when he thought no one was observing him, that made Joe wary when he was near.

OoOoOoO

The moment the doors of the London elevator had opened, Joe had been ready to attack or arrest Mabrey. One look from Her Majesty would have been enough.

But it seemed she had handled the Viscount masterly.

_Rosemary Clooney? _

If only she disliked that singer... But he didn't know, did he? He briefly wondered _why_ he was so eager to find out, but he spent most of his time simply thinking of ways to make her talk jazz.

She was his Queen, he was her employee, he couldn't just _ask_ her. She would say something like: ´Really Joseph, do you think that listening to that singer will do me harm?´

He could imagine how she would pronounce 'harm'.

OoOoOoO

Picture the scene: a sunny Autumn day, the trees on the Castle's grounds colouring yellow, red, brown, with touches of green still, and two people clad in black to enjoy the fine weather.

Her Majesty asked her Head of Security to walk next to her. She wasn't very talkative. After having walked in silence from the Castle to the green houses, the Queen looked to her right, were a bird had hopped into her field of vision. Joseph was shaking his head.

She took the bait.

´What is it Joseph?´

´Nothing ma'am. It's just that I have a song in my head and - ´

´You can't forget it,´ the Queen smiled.

´No, I can't . The words and the melody keep coming back.´

´If you try another song, this one might go. Or is it too good?´

´It's _Jack the Knife_,´ Joe revealed.

´Ah!´ the Queen responded.

Joe got inspired: ´This morning it was _Something's gotta give_.´

´In which version?´

Joe had no idea. Had Rosemary ever sung _Something's gotta give_?

´Ella Fitzgerald?´ the Queen guessed.

Joe answered with a question of his own.

´Would you recommend that version?´

´Absolutely, she is one of my favourite jazz performers.´

Joe searched his brain for singers' names.

´Do you like Billie Holiday ma'am?´

The Queen shook her head: ´She somehow reminds me of Tina Turner.´

Joe laughed.

´I like Sarah Vaughan,´ he offered.

´And rightly so.´

Silence. They were walking towards the lake.

´Do you like... what's her name... She's got a son who played in Twin Peaks...´

The Queen shrugged.

´And a nephew of hers plays in this new American TV series. ER.´

´ER?´

´It's about a hospital.´

´I see,´ the Queen said. ´Ghastly wounds, people screaming in agony and doctors who spend more time having affairs than curing patients? No, that is not my cup of tea.´

Joe smiled warmly.

´But you mentioned an actor?´

´Yes. His name is... George. George something. He's got the same family name as the singer who's name slipped my mind.´

For ten metres Joe pretended not to recall the name. Then: ´Clooney! George Clooney,´ he said triumphantly.

´Old age hasn't got you in its claws yet Joseph,´ the Queen smiled, ´Is he _Rosemary_ Clooney's nephew?´

´Rosemary! Yes, _that's_ her name.´

´Some people feel she is not a jazz singer, but I appreciate her recordings.´

_Than why did you recommend her to _him_?_ Joe thought.

OoOoOoO

The whole thing bothered Joe, but unlike in his dreams, the Queen had not invited the huge nobleman over to listen to jazz.

And when the Viscount had entered the conversation between Her Majesty and some thespians, after the opening night of a play, she had _continued_ to been charming, and not to please _him_.

He should have realised that instantly.

Capras and Valais had informed him about a brief encounter between the Queen and the Viscount in a gallery. It must have been unexpected. According to Valais, their meeting had not been hostile. They had talked about paper-weights. A very neutral subject. Joe hadn't felt the need to make the Queen talk glass.

He probably wouldn't have had an opportunity to do so anyhow, for added to Her Majesty's usual work were the preparations for the state visit of the President of Brazil, who was on a European tour.

OoOoOoO

This morning the Queen had welcomed the President at the airport and right now the two Heads of State were about to attend a lunch offered by the Chairman of Parliament.

The Queen sat down. The gallant Brazilian guest personally held her chair. Dressed in a beautifully cut dress with a tight skirt, the Queen elegantly and innocently moved her hands from her... derrière down her upper legs, to prevent the fabric from crumpling. The President smiled.

Joe didn't notice it, for he was secretly observing Viscount Mabrey, who was placed at the main table. The nobleman looked at the Queen and Joe expected to see a flash of contempt in the Viscount's eyes.

It wasn't there.

The man probably had an off day.

He'd better!


	6. Something concerning politics

Chapter 6 – Something concerning politics

The would-be American Ambassador to Genovia stepped out of his car.

He looked around.

Personally he felt that a republic was the only decent form of government, but well, this ancient Castle, with its court-yard and its guard of honour... He wasn't _completely_ immune for the attractions a monarchy had to offer.

A high ranked soldier greeted him and introduced himself.

´So you're a Count right?´

The soldier – four star General Count Rossano – _almost_ raised his eyebrows.

´Indeed I am sir. If you will follow me, I will escort you to Her Majesty.´

´Yeah OK.´

There is no reason to feel that everyone should behave in the same way. As long as we don't hurt one another, everything is just fine. Whether you have an ear ring or a nose piercing, does it really matter?

Count Rossano didn't mind it when people were different. They could dye their hair blue for all he cared. But this talkative man with his southern accent acted so unlike an Ambassador that the nobleman had to bite his tongue not to ask him whether he really _was_ the representative of the United States.

What if this loud chap had simply got in the limousine before the real Ambassador had a chance to protest?

´Oh, I brought the papers with me! Should I give them to you?´

´Excuse me?´

Mr Nathan Irvin Marston Chrichton II (Irv for short, but you guessed that) opened the leather file he had brought with him and showed the Count his credentials.

´So, how am I gonna address her? Please to meet you Queen?´

OoOoOoO

´I'm sure she had her reasons,´ Lord Jalva tried to calm his party-member Mr Artagnan.

´The United States are important to us!´

´She would never have done it unless -´

´She should never have done it period. The American President would not have sent us an Ambassador who would _not_ honour his country.´

Artagnan looked around to collect supportive nods from his fellow MPs. He didn't get many. Most of the Parliamentarians listening to him seemed to think that the Queen must have had a valid reason for having done what she did.

´I suppose she didn't like the way he drank his tea,´ Artagnan said with a sneer.

Some men grinned.

´Maybe he called her by her name?´ Sir Planchet offered, ´Hi Clarisse!´

The men, except one, laughed. Artagnan shook his head: didn't they understand this was serious?

Viscount Mabrey approached the jolly bunch.

´Mabrey, you've heard about it too didn't you?´

The Viscount, who had just arrived at the House of Parliament, had not.

His colleagues informed him.

´So she refused to install this Mr Chrichton as Ambassador?´

Artagnan nodded. Knowing that the Viscount welcomed every chance to criticise the Queen, he expected him to express his disapproval.

´You know those Americans. This man probably contributed to the President's election campaign and was rewarded for that. I'd be surprised if he can _spell_ diplomacy!´

Artagnan, as well as his colleagues, remembered that Arthur Mabrey was a man of the Old World, who relished his contempt for the American way of things.

OoOoOoO

Lucas Artagnan recently had been given the title of 'most boring speaker' by the parliamentary press.

His voice was monotonous, which made most people forget his usually solid arguments the very moment he uttered them. It was only his ill-use of idioms that occasionally re-woke his listeners.

Not liking his new title, Artagnan figured that when he would repeat his arguments using other words, people _would_ recall what he'd said. And then no one would find him boring.

He started addressing Her Majesty thus:

´Ma'am, Mr Chrichton has been chosen by his President to represent him. The United States might very well take offence because you sent him away just like that.´

´Please sir, do not think that I would do such a thing _just like that_.´

´Your Majesty, the gentleman has been selected by his Head of State to act as his substitute. The US of A might be insulted by your actions.´

The MP cleverly added: ´The Members of Parliament are entitled to learn why you've dismissed him.´

´Would-be Ambassadors are not dismissed Mr Artagnan. On rare occasions their credentials are not accepted and that is what happened in this case.´

´The Parliamentarians have the right to know what made you sent Mr Chrichton away.´

´All I can say is that the gentleman did not have what it takes to make a diplomat.´

´Why would your tongue be sealed in this private session of Parliament ma'am?´

Some Parliamentarians grinned. One of them wrote something down.

´When it comes to delicate matters such as the relations between states Mr Artagnan, it is best to be tight-lipped.´

´For all we know, the Americans feel insulted by your action.´

He studied the notes he'd made. The Queen took the opportunity and quickly came to the point.

´I have contacted the Secretary of State of the United States. After informing him about my meeting with the would-be Ambassador, Mr Secretary told me that he fully understood my reaction. The President later called me and he confirmed that a new candidate will be chosen soon. I can assure you that the Genovian-American relationship was not harmed.´

OoOoOoO

Several MPs were having a stroll in a secluded garden near the House of Parliament.

The Viscount was content. _He_ would have been able to made her reveal more of her meeting with the American, but Artagnan had done just fine.

The most boring speaker (of the last decade, Mabrey privately added) was not quite satisfied though.

´Her Majesty has informed the House of Parliament that her actions have not offended the American government. Isn't that what you wanted to hear?´ Lord Jalva asked Artagnan.

´True, but I would have preferred to use my own lines to make her say that.´

Lord Jalva laughed, thinking that Artagnan was joking.

Lord Martin entered the garden.

´Come quickly! The American President is interviewed by foreign journalists and my source tells me a Frenchman is going to ask him about the would-be Ambassador being sent away.´

Mabrey, who was about to lit a cigar, waved his hand to blow out the flame.

Artagnan gave his peers a fierce look.

´If she withheld something,´ he told them, ´leave it to me to get her in cold sweat in the afternoon session!´

The men followed Lord Martin inside. Mabrey placed his cigar back in its case and slowly made his way to the building.

OoOoOoO

Feeling slightly anxious (it must have been something he ate), Arthur Mabrey entered an ante-room of Parliament's meeting room. His colleagues had gathered around a TV that showed a live reporting from CNN.

Mabrey entered in time to see a reporter from the Philippines take his leave.

´There he is!´ Lord Martin said as a French journalist took the seat the Philippine had just vacated.

OoOoOoO

The Frenchman asked the American President, Keaton A Fowl, whether it was true that the Genovian Queen had refused the Ambassador he'd selected for her country.

Fowl tilted his head, raised his eyebrows and smiled, waiting for his lines. When they entered his ears, he said: ´That's true Mr... Montac. But you'll understand that diplomacy is a delicate subject. I will not be able to enter this subject.´

The journalist, whose name was Montagnac, knew how to play Fowl.

´I understand sir. What did Her Majesty say about this?´

The President smiled. He sat back and relaxed, shaking his head in a way his fans described as _charming_.

´She first contacted my Secretary of State. And he informed me about it. At first I didn't like it - ´

In an often made gesture the President removed his ear-piece, so he wouldn't hear his aid's objections anymore.

´- didn't like it, 'cause I like Irv you know. I am not ashamed to say that. He's a man, and I'm a man, true, but we're good old fashioned friends. He's been a great help to me during my campaign. But my Secretary of State told me that I shouldn't be upset. Because the Queen was right. He showed me where Genovia is, and then he showed me a picture of the Queen, and I figured I'd call her.´

The President confidentially moved forward in his chair.

´She has a beautiful voice. It's warm and rich and clear as a bell.´

´You turn into a real poet Mr President.´

´Why thank you Mr... Montac. But don't think that the attractions of the other sex can make me forget the duty I have as a President!´

The President placed his fist on the arm rest of his chair.

´I firmly asked Her Majesty whether she wouldn't concern to have this great chap, Nathan Irvin Marston Chrichton, as my representate.´

President Fowl decided to give the journalist an innocent scoop.

´Do you know that I sometimes call him NimC?´

The President raised one finger: ´It's one letter longer than just Irv, but it sounds good, doesn't it? NimC.´

The President smiled at his aid, who was desperately gesturing him to stop talking.

The independent Mr Fowl had more to say.

´Her Majesty said that a man who described Genovia as a small country no American had ever heard of...´

He clicked his tongue.

´How did she put it? She used such a beautiful long line...´

He shook his head.

´Well, she kindly explained that she meant that small countries have their pride too and that Ambassadors are the last people to offend that pride. And, you're from France right?´

The journalist nodded.

´And she also said that even if she could forgive Mr Chrichton for his gaffe, I didn't ask want she meant by that, it's continental right? She could not allow an Ambassador to say that it would be best to have Genovia become part of France or Spain.´

OoOoOoO

´Good Lord!´

Several Genovian MPs were about to further comment Mr Chrichton's idea, but Lord Jalva hushed them.

OoOoOoO

The keen President had noticed the journalist's expression.

´You wouldn't like that either? The Spain part? Well, I understand that now. But, well, I am the President of the United States, and Nathan Irvin Marston Chrichton is my friend, and he means well, so I asked her again if she couldn't reconsider and have NimC as my representive.´

The President winked and leaned forward.

´Do you know what she said? She said that as far as she was concerned, NimC meant 'not in my country'.´

OoOoOoO

There was a moment's silence among the Genovian gentlemen. Then their merriment and ´hear hears´, deafened the President's roars of laughter.

Lord Jalva saw Viscount Mabrey's grin and proudly said: ´She's great isn't she?´

´What? Oh. Well I- ´

´Arthur! Admit she was wonderful!´

´You've always had a soft spot for her Bertrand. I was amused because my prejudices against Mr Fowl were just confirmed.´

But let the record show that the CNN broadcast resulted in at least two things: the word 'gaffe' started a new life in Genovia and Viscount Mabrey no longer felt bad about having a midnight visitor. He was a grown man, why would he be upset by mere dreams?


	7. Going for a stroll

Chapter 7 – Going for a stroll

Joe happened to enter the security room when Iglesias contacted him. The guard informed his boss that Her Majesty wanted to have a walk in her gardens and that she had told him and Monet to stay indoors.

Joe held back a curse. He knew she never dismissed her bodyguards _outside_ the Castle's grounds, but he'd prefer her to be guarded all the time.

Still, he felt oddly pleased that she never told _him_ to stay inside when she wanted to go for a stroll.

´Where is Her Majesty?´ he asked Capras who was monitoring the screens.

´Number five sir,´ the guard immediately replied.

And there she was: enjoying her gardens. Most people could not find anything attractive there: winter was approaching. But _she_ saw the promise of spring and meanwhile enjoyed the bald or balding beauty around her.

Joe expected her to go to the greenhouses, but instead she turned left.

Capras tracked her.

Joe nodded approvingly and started questioning the young man.

Where was the path the Queen had taken leading to? Where there any risks? Was it fully covered by cameras?

Capras's answers proved that he had memorized a map of the grounds.

´Any danger you'd say?´

Capras swallowed, feeling as if he was was taking exams.

´No sir. But in case the Queen chooses to take the lake road, I'd send Monet and Iglesias after her.´

´Because...?´

´It is near the outer wall.´

´But wouldn't you be too late to order the guards now?´

´No sir, because the Queen is wandering, while Monet and Iglesias can run.´

´Good thinking Capras. But I doubt it is needed.´

´Sir?´

´It's starting to rain. Her Majesty will return to the Castle.´

Capras felt uncomfortable having to watch the Queen _not_ returning to the Castle. It was as if he had caught his boss lying.

The Queen looked at the sky, an annoyed look on her face, and then she made it for a path that wasn't a path. She disappeared out of sight.

´Find her!´

But Capras was already checking the screens. A torrent of rain was giving him a difficult task.

_She wants to find shelter. What's the nearest... The pavilion!_

´Check camera 17!´ Joe ordered.

Capras did so. As the camera moved left, so did a figure. Hiding her head under her shawl, she nearly slipped over some wet leaves before she made it into the building.

´I'm getting her out of there,´ Joe informed Capras as he left the room.

Capras nodded, his eyes on the screen. When the camera turned further left, he cursed (´Oh no!´) and put a lock on camera number 16 (´No no no!´) before he managed to turn number 17 to the pavilion again and lock it.

OoOoOoO

The Conservatives had had a dull party meeting in the House of Parliament.

Afterwards they had half an hour to spend before the start of a session of Parliament.

Most MPs stayed indoors, but Viscount Mabrey needed fresh air.

Looking out of a window, he accepted an umbrella a servant offered him.

The politicians were not supposed to enter the Castle's gardens, but it wasn't as if there were signs indicating that one was tress passing, were there?

Besides, Mabrey reasoned, he wasn't just anybody and he didn't harm a soul by peacefully walking around.

Apart from that, his being here meant that he was not afraid of bumping into _her_.

It started to rain.

The Viscount put up his umbrella and walked along, telling himself that she may be able to befriend a _sleeping_ Arthur Mabrey, but that his conscious self would never yield.

Fifty-nine!

It now rained cats and dogs. Despite the umbrella, Mabrey's feet got wet because drops of rain were bouncing back from the pavement. Mabrey saw a small building. When he arrived there, it was raining so heavily that he was unable to see his hand before his own face.

With a relieved sigh he turned in the door-less entrance so he could put down his umbrella.

When he walked inside, he saw... _her_.

´Viscount, we are trapped _again_.´

The nobleman explained that he had taken a stroll and that he'd thought he'd best seek cover. He hoped he had not walked into the Royal Gardens?

He suddenly noticed that the Queen's skirt clung to her legs.

He turned around and took his time to shake out his umbrella. The Queen made another effort to un-clung the fabric.

The Viscount saw a soaked shawl on a window seat. From the corner of his eye he saw that the neckline of her blouse was wet also.

In a move that was remarkably gracious for a man his size, he removed his coat, holding it up for her.

´Please take this, you must be cold ma'am,´ he offered.

´Thank you Viscount,´ she said with a charming smile, masterly hiding her surprise.

OoOoOoO

Joe quickly walked to a small exit near the kitchen. It was a short cut to the garden and there was always an umbrella hanging on the door.

´It's hardly the moment to go for a walk Mr Romero,´ the cook told him.

´I'm going to get Her Majesty. She made it for the pavilion when it started to rain.´

´O dear! Well, I'm going to make her some tea then. I'm sure she'll -´

The door fell close behind the Head of Security.

´- like something warm.´

OoOoOoO

Arthur Mabrey moved to the other side of the pavilion and stared at the sky.

´I hope it will soon stop raining,´ he remarked.

He had been exposed to far too much _her_ already. Still, he made a show of checking his watch, lest _she_ should think he wanted to get away from her.

´In twenty minutes Parliament's session will begin, you see.´

´And _I_ will not attend it, so I can't tell you that they will not start without me Viscount,´ the Queen replied, adding: ´There is a piece of blue sky above the West Tower.´

The Viscount turned around.

She wore his coat like a cape, having buttoned up the top button. It looked stylish.

´Oh,´ she commented her view, ´and it is now eaten by a monstrous dark cloud.´

OoOoOoO

Joe hadn't bothered putting up his umbrella, for it would only slow him down when having to glide between hedges: naturally he took short cuts again.

He hoped she would appreciate it that he'd come to her... _rescue_. She'd probably give him an amused smile when he'd rush into the pavilion.

Joe wouldn't mind. He was acting the gentleman and surely she would prefer to make her way back to the Castle covered by an umbrella. And his coat. Her scent might get in-

Joe's pleasant day dreaming was interrupted when he almost stepped on old Gilles, the head-gardener.

Gilles Zebley was only twelve years older than Joe, but his skin had suffered from decades of outdoor work, and besides, he'd been called old Gilles ever since the early seventies, when there had been a young Gilles attending the lawns.

The gardener had been working between two hedges when he'd missed his footing. He could have prevented himself from falling by grabbing a conifer, but he would rather risk hurting himself than do damage to his green friends.

Gilles was strong as a bear and never complained. He'd tried to get up, but his ankle and his hip had screamed he'd better not. When it had started to rain, he'd realised that his colleague, who was having a break, wouldn't be tempted to go outside. Figuring there wouldn't be cameras between the hedges, he'd realised he might be lying there for quite some time.

Joe contacted Capras, who told him the Queen had not yet left the pavilion. _She_ was save and sheltered, but old Gilles was wet, cold and hurt.

Did Joe have a choice? He'd found his damsel in distress...

OoOoOoO

Whereas Joe Romero had roughly entered the real world, Arthur Mabrey felt himself drift away.

The Queen and he were sitting opposite each other. Scrutinizing her skin he found it to be as fair and seemingly as smooth as it was in his dreams.

´You didn't happen to bring playing-cards with you, did you Viscount?´

_And neither does she say silly things like m__y my how it rains__._

´No ma'am. Never on Tuesdays.´

She smiled.

´I've never noticed this building before,´ Mabrey remarked.

´That is because you never needed to seek refuge. This pavilion was already here when I was young, many decades ago.´

Mabrey glanced at her. Her eyes sparkled.

Was she teasing him? This was too much like a dream...

´King Edmond wanted to have it destroyed, but I pleaded against that,´ the Queen shared, ´I could just picture having tea here.´

´And so it stayed,´ the Viscount understood.

´To my pleasure it did. The princes played here often,´ she told him, looking around. ´This pavilion has served as a Roman military camp, as a sheriff's headquarters...´

_If this were a dream_ Mabrey thought, _I would say_: ´Has it ever served as a ballroom?´

´Boys who picture themselves in the Wild West are not into dan-´

The moment Arthur Mabrey realised he'd actually spoken aloud, he reached out his hand.

´-cing in the rain,´ he finished her line. Clearing his throat he asked: ´May I?´

The Queen needed one line to collect herself (´Isn't the phrase _singing_ in the rain?´) before placing her hand in the Viscount's.


	8. Dawn

Chapter 8 – Dawn

With all the fussing (´the first aid kit is under the sink!´) and running about (´get more towels!´) the kitchen resembled a hen-house.

Joe carefully seated old Gilles in front of the burning fire place. The cook poured the gardener a drink. It was telling for how he felt that he didn't decline it.

If he hadn't been on duty, Joe too would have accepted the glass Mrs Danieli offered him.

Joe had felt guilty because his first response on seeing the injured gardener had been _Not now!_

He had contacted Capras to inform after Her Majesty's whereabouts. With the Queen safely in the pavilion, he had told Capras about the injured Mr Zebley. When Capras had asked him if he should send assistance, Joe had replied that it was not needed. All Capras was allowed to do was have a doctor sent for.

Joe had wanted to make up for his unkind thoughts by helping Gilles inside all alone.

Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if part of him had wanted to prove that he could support the tall and heavy gardener by himself.

OoOoOoO

Why don't we go back to the pavilion? We've left – as you might remember – at the moment the Queen accepted Viscount Mabrey's invitation to dance.

The nobleman had made the invitation after saying aloud what he'd merely meant to think, and he'd done so to cover his confusion. Had she – from his tone of voice? - thought he'd been dreaming of dancing with her? He wouldn't give her that pleasure.

Besides: in his imagination they would sway smoothly, but in reality she would step on his umbrella, which would prove that there was no reason for him to daydream about dancing with her.

However, after asking her, he _was_ anxious to hear her answer (any future damage to the umbrella forgotten): what if she, politely, for she was a lady and a diplomat, would decline?

It was true, Mabrey told himself, that the pavilion made for a poor ballroom, that there was no music and that they were not dressed for dancing.

Her Majesty made a charming reply and he, taking it for the introduction of a refusal, was about to nod understandingly, when – just like that- she'd placed her hand in his.

Perhaps you are wondering why the Queen accepted Mabrey's invitation?

One of the first things she had learned from the private teacher who taught her to dance was that a lady can never refuse a partner. Little Clarisse was a sensitive girl and she'd realised that a nice man might feel hurt if she told him _No, thank you_. Still, she didn't like the rule, for she would have to dance with men who'd step on her toes, blow their bad breath in her face, pinch her and look at her bosom. Not that she already had one at the time, but she'd been allowed to watch the balls her father had hosted and she was a keen observer.

Did she accept Mabrey because of a social rule that was impressed upon her by a teacher, and, more importantly, by her father, half a century ago?

Her Majesty rarely refused a dance, and she knew how to do it without causing a gentleman to feel insulted or even awkward (even though it always concerned men who were _not nice_).

But when someone who never liked you suddenly proves that he can be kind, when someone who gave you looks bordering on contempt suddenly seems insecure around you, when that very someone asks you to dance and seems nervous about it... why say no?

So here they were, standing in the middle of the pavilion.

´What music do you suppose we dance on?´

´There's always the sound of rain ma'am.´

The sound of rain had changed from a persistent beat to a less deafening rhythm. The Queen was about to remark that, when the Viscount realised it too.

He released her soft skinned hand to enable her to walk to a window, checking the sky at the other side of the pavilion himself.

They soon concluded that although it rained heavily in front of them and behind them, there was a cloud above them, moving towards the Castle, that was not in a drowning mood.

The Viscount didn't know whether he felt relieved or disappointed when she gestured toward his umbrella.

´We only have a few minutes ahead on the cloud behind us,´ he hesitated.

´If we make it for the kitchen entrance, we can do it.´

He picked up his umbrella and she prevented him from taking her heavy, soaked shawl also.

He kindly asked her to put his coat back on. She told him that _she_ could change at the Castle and _he_ couldn't and he was ready to make a charming reply, something about insisting to let her keep what little protection he could offer her, when she, looking outside and noticing that the wind had gathered strength, objected no longer.

´We'd better stop arguing and run for it before the umbrella becomes useless,´ she remarked.

´Ma'am,´ Arthur Mabrey said, ´Your umbrella awaits you.´

Holding it outside, he put it up and made an inviting gesture with his free arm.

OoOoOoO

Back to the kitchen: Joe – to his horror - noticed his ear plug dangling in front of his chest.

He immediately contacted Capras.

´Is Her Majesty still in the pavilion?´

´No sir, I tried to con-´

´Where _is_ she?´

´I believe she is heading for the kitchen sir. A man is accompanying her, holding an umbrella for her.´

Capras hadn't yet seen the man's face, but he had a good memory for the way people moved. He didn't share his thoughts on the subject with his boss.

Joe took some towels with him and hurried towards the exit. He'd just left the kitchen when the outer door opened and the Queen entered. She wore a man's coat and in a swift movement placed it on a fire distinguisher.

Her hair was a bit wet, as was the collar of her blouse. Her skirt partly clung to her legs. The strong wind had made her cheeks glow and her eyes were sparkling. She looked lovely and provocatively juicy at the same time.

Joe explained that he had been on his way to get her out of the pavilion when the man in the doorway (who had put down his damaged umbrella) closed the door behind him and turned around, just when Joe gave the Queen the towels. Glad to be able to dry her hair and face, her bodyguard's expression escaped her.

´Ah, thank you Joseph.´

She gave a towel to the Viscount and in the process of being handed it was unfolded.

´At the moment I can't offer you a larger one Viscount.´

Joe expected Arthur Mabrey to prove what kind of man he was by giving the Queen a snare.

The Viscount looked like a wet whale. Well, except whales don't ever get soaked, do they? Whales don't smile either, especially not when someone gives them a cute tiny towel to dry themselves.

The Queen bent her head back a little so she could wipe raindrops from her neck.

´You can't possibly go to Parliament like that Viscount,´ she said.

The kitchen door opened and the cook stepped into the corridor.

´Your Majesty, I thought I heard you. I made a nice hot cup of tea for you. And there's a fire burning in the kitchen...´

´If you could have some tea sent to my office in fifteen minutes, that would be lovely Mrs Danieli.´

The cook replied that she would take care of it and entered her domain again.

Noticing Iglesias and Monet standing near, the Queen told Monet to bring the Viscount to the nearest guest room so he could have a shower.

´Have someone dry the Viscount's clothes in the meanwhile.´

Monet inclined his head and glanced at the nobleman, who stood there dripping and didn't seem to mind it.

´Really Viscount, I insist,´ the Queen said when Mabrey didn't move.

He gave in with a smile and a nod and picked up his coat. Joe had the impression that the whale wanted to kiss the Queen's hand, but, being thoroughly wet, thought the better of it.

Glad to see Mabrey leave, Joe continued his story - starting at the point where he'd slipped between the hedges - when the Viscount turned around.

´Your Majesty, if I may be so bold...´

´What is it Viscount?´

´Will you allow me a rain-check?´

OoOoOoO

Iglesias was dragged forward and thrown over the Head of Security's hip.

His colleagues flinched when he hit the dojo's floor and they put even more effort in _their_ judo exercises.

Joe had worked for Their Majesties since the late eighties and he never had a problem admitting to himself that his Queen was attractive.

(Iglesias met the floor again.)

Her Majesty always treated him in a friendly way, and differently from the other senior members of staff. He was content with what he could get and what he could give: being with her, making her smile and laugh, accompanying her at her request when she walked in her gardens, kissing her hand when there was an occasion to do so.

(Iglesias's arm felt sore after breaking yet another fall.)

After the King's death Her Majesty's smiles, her brain, the way she raised an eyebrow, her throaty laughter, her body, her wit, her elegance and poise, her kindness, her voice, her sparkling eyes and everything that was _her_ came to him unguarded by her husband's presence.

Joe Romero was a pragmatic man: he had confessed to himself years ago that he liked and admired her. Period.

Being the only man who was in close contact with her on a daily basis, he could afford not to wish for more than a friendly employer-employee relationship.

But lately something had started to bother him.

_Will you allow me a rain-check?_

´Get up Iglesias!´

OoOoOoO

Had Arthur Mabrey been a postman or a construction worker, people would have called him fat. Being a nobleman and an MP, he was _impressive_.

The Viscount, who was changing for the night, stared at his reflection in a mirror. He shook his head and put on his pyjama jacket. The little fantasy that had presented itself today faded away: He would have a shower, steam filling the bathroom, when _she_ would enter. He'd attempt to cover his private parts with a tiny towel. She would eye him before looking away, blushing.

Mabrey walked away from the mirror.

It would surprise him if she _wouldn't_ appear in his dreams tonight.

A dream is just a dream...

_Will you allow me a rain-check?_

_I can't possibly deny you that Viscount._


	9. Buddies on a cash diet

Chapter 9 – Buddies on a cash diet

On entering the hall of his club, Viscount Mabrey saw his friend, Gervais Santerre, standing on the first floor landing. Mabrey raised his hand in greeting and climbed the stairs. Doing so, he was passed by a young waiter carrying a tray with filled water-bottles.

Mabrey couldn't have staged it better himself.

For his friend's benefit he shook his head in resignation.

Santerre grinned.

´Yes Arthur,´ he said when his friend had completed the exercise, ´we're not young any more, are we? Don't worry, when _I_ climb stairs and _talk_ at the same time, I soon find myself gasping for breath.´

Mabrey had a similar problem.

´It's this,´ he said, glancing down.

´And this!´ Santerre laughed, placing a hand on his own impressive curves, ´Louise keeps telling me that for my own good I should lose weight, but -´

´Food and wine shouldn't taste that good,´ Mabrey smirked.

´Exactly my friend! All those diets I tried only reduced the size of my wallet. And how could they not: I can't resist chocolate, or baked potatoes, or...,´

As Santerre indulged in naming his favourite things, Mabrey raised his brows and widened his eyes, indicating that he had a brilliant idea.

´... eel stew, strawber-, what is it Arthur?´

Mabrey placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

´We both love food and drinks. And we both hate losing a bet!´

Santerre nodded, not yet understanding what his friend was up to.

´Let's make a bet about losing weight!´

Santerre grinned: ´I'm always in for a bet.´

Mabrey nodded encouragingly.

´Who loses most weight in... three months?´ Santerre suggested.

Mabrey shrugged.

Santerre continued: ´Bien, who wins gets...´

´A thousand?´ Mabrey suggested, knowing his friend would prefer to blame _him_ when having to answer Louise.

Santerre grasped Mabrey's hand to seal the deal: ´You're on. We'll get on the scales in the sauna tonight.´

Mabrey was content: if he would suddenly change his habits, people might get silly ideas. Now he had made a bet. And everyone knew that he couldn't bare losing one.

When a waiter asked him if he cared for some brandy, he ordered water.

Mabrey wasn't sorry when his friend started laughing and informed an acquaintance about their new 'diet'.

OoOoOoO

By the end of the week some pieces of furniture from Mabrey's dressing room had been replaced by home trainers, the workings of which had been demonstrated by a fitness instructor.

Mabrey's cook, a man used to prepare proper meals, searched his cooking books for salad recipes.

Mabrey's Ford drove from the House of Parliament to his gentlemen's club with an empty back seat. The Viscount walked.

OoOoOoO

Joe Romero didn't do his daily work-outs to lose weight. His profession required him to stay in shape. Apart from that he found physical exercises mentally satisfying.

Recently added to his fitness schedule was a refreshing round of jogging through the gardens. Every Thursday, Monday and Tuesday.

Naturally, it was discussed in the kitchen.

The ladies wondered whether the Head of Security was training for a marathon and they praised his lean body.

´You _do_ know he's fifty-eight right?´ Iglesias said. He respected and admired his boss, but the appeal the man had on women annoyed him. He figured it must be his function that made perfectly nice girls such as Isabel smile when just hearing his voice. And it were not just the chicks who swooned: the cook, who frightened some guards, had a soft spot for the boss too, as had the housekeeper and the first dress maid.

The only lady who was immune to Romero's magic was Her Majesty. Which proved it was a function thing. The bloke was balding and not very tall. Where was the attraction?

´Of course we know that Iglesias. It's just... he's _got_ something...´ Anna said.

Her female colleagues nodded.

Iglesias shrugged. He still didn't get it.

The cook, listening to the talking around her, riffled through a magazine. Spotting a picture of Viscount Mabrey at a party, she tabbed on it and told the housekeeper, seated next to her, that she had always felt that Viscount Mabrey was a bit slimy, but that he _had_ acted the gentlemen in getting the Queen out of the pavilion.

´You remember: when old Gilles fell and the Head of Security carried him inside!´ Mrs Danieli refreshed the housekeeper's memory.

Anna had heard her boss.

´Mr Romero is much stronger than you might say,´ she said, grinning at Iglesias.

´My maid Livia, who dried and ironed the Viscount's clothes that day, said that he was ever so polite to her,´ the housekeeper told the cook. ´There are stories about him disrespecting _ordinary people_, but _I_ don't believe those tales any more.´

Mrs Danieli thoughtfully nodded.

´The Viscount has a charming smile,´ the housekeeper remarked, looking at the nobleman's picture.

With all the talking about the attractions of the male sex, people didn't realise two things.

The first was that Monday, Tuesday and Thursday were the days Parliament was in session. The second was that on Monday and Thursday the Head of Security went jogging during the interval of Parliament's meeting, while on Tuesday, when there was a short session, Mr Romero worked on his condition after the Conservative party's weekly meeting.

OoOoOoO

When the door fell close behind her Minister of Agriculture, Clarisse pulled a letter from under a pile of folders and continued to read it where she'd left. Her friend ´B´ (Do you remember her? She's the same ´B´ whose letter the Queen had been reading in the London elevator) wrote her about a town in the east of her country whose mayor had reminded her of Basil Fawlty. And _not_ because of his looks.

Clarisse smirked. Like herself, B delighted in ridiculous behaviour, and, like herself, she only tolerated it up to a certain level.

_During dinner_ _I related everything to Ernst. He had the wonderful idea to find a miniature mayor for his model train scenery, and have him talk to a miniature ´lady wearing hat´ while stepping into miniature dog-dung. I almost forgot: I wonder what Mabrey is up to._

Clarisse made a questioningly sound. Hearing footsteps approach, she hurried to read the next lines.

_Is one of his hobby-horses to make its appearance in Parliament and does he need your support for it? Is there a reason for him to act the way he does, __other_ _than being utterly charmed by his Queen? Even though you didn't know his game, you've played him well and I applaud you. But he's not every Tom, Dick or Harry._

A knock on the door made the Queen fold her letter.

The Chairman of the Society Against Cruelty to Animals was ushered into her office by an aide-de-camp.

Her Majesty rose and welcomed her visitor with a smile. For the next twenty minutes other topics took preference over her friend's warning.


	10. It's the butt

Chapter 10 – It's the butt

CV, originally known as Country's Voice, is a popular Genovian magazine. It is published bi-weekly and contains a very good film section, excellent book reviews, articles about science that are eagerly read by both laymen and scientists, the inevitable show section and five to eight interviews per item.

CV's Mr Barrio had travelled to Spain, to interview the American actor Hector Williams. The young man had a major part in a romantic road movie that was filmed in the country of the flamenco. Barrio, who normally interviewed politicians and writers, couldn't even _pretend_ to be interested in it.

Fortunately Williams was very talkative and when he found out that his interviewer was from Genovia, he exclaimed that he had visited that country when he'd had a few days' leave.

´Its so fairy tale like, don't you think? Ge-no-vi-a.´

Barrio forced himself to smile.

He was told that many people believed Williams was a _hunk_, so he asked the actor a simple question that would please his readers: ´What do you think of Genovian women?´

The answer was not what he had expected.

Well, the first part was: ´There are pretty girls in your country.´

The second part definitely wasn't: ´And you've got a hot Queen.´

´I beg your pardon?´

´Yeah, no offence you know, but hey... I was in that town... What's it called? Something with a P. Anyway, there was a crowd, so I asked what was going on and some bloke said that the Queen was opening an exhibition. Well, never saw a Queen so I stayed and watched. She's a real lady. Heard her talk to some bystanders. Husky voice, great legs, full bosom, beautiful smile, bright blue teasing eyes...´

Barrio tried to think of something to say.

As an afterthought Williams added: ´And a nice butt too.´

Barrio had met Queen Clarisse several times. He acknowledged that she was a attractive. It did not seem proper to write that down though, especially not in the way described by young Mr Williams.

Barrio was a journalist however and he kept the husky voice, the beautiful smile and the bright blue eyes.

He figured that the line ´You have pretty girls in Genovia and your Queen is a real lady´ would make a nice title for his article.

As it happened, chief editor Delphy found the original transcript of the interview.

OoOoOoO

Not bothering to knock, Barrio walked into his boss's office.

´Keep the butt out. Please. It will not do. All other descriptions... well, there's not much offence in them -´

´If a twenty-two year old stud would call _my_ butt nice, I wouldn't be offended at all,´ Erica Morales, the thirty something editor of the science section said, turning in her chair to watch the intruding journalist.

´Claude,´ the chief editor addressed Barrio, ´it's the butt that does it. It's a great line.´

He raised his hand to prevent Barrio from replying.

´Spoken by a young man, about a _fifty-nine_ year old woman. How can that be insulting? She'll like it!´

´Don't fool yourself! She will be really _pissed_ when people start watching and commenting her bu- behind because Jean Delphy thought it would be fun to have a certain line printed!´

Delphy thought about how the Queen being pissed could affect him and his magazine. Perhaps a politician might cancel an interview, or a scientist from the Queen's circle would refuse to provide background information for an article. Well, there were plenty of politicians and a lot of scientists. There were only a few opportunities to sell thousands of extra copies of CV.

The contents of CV's upcoming issue was slightly changed. A line _Interview with Hector Williams: ´You've got a hot Queen´ _was added to the cover_._

OoOoOoO

Two hours after the new CV was distributed, Delphy made a call to his printer and then ordered champagne.

OoOoOoO

´Good morning Joseph.´

´Your Majesty.´

´Have a seat,´ the Queen said, ´let us make it a short meeting.´

It didn't take them long to discuss the things at hand. Joe asked the Queen if she would approve of the guards having a team outing.

´Why do I have the feeling that you hope I will disapprove?´

_Bright blue teasing eyes_, Joe thought.

´The linen maids and dress maids went to see a musical last week and they had dinner in the De La Fleur hotel afterwards. And the gardeners played paint ball, whatever that may be, and they visited a casino. I am afraid you can't deny security to have fun too Joseph.´

_A beautiful voice crowned by a crystal-clear pronunciation._

When – shortly afterwards - Joe was about to take his leave, the Queen walked toward a window.

_Moving gracefully and dressed elegantly..._

Her Majesty said that she was glad she didn't have appointments outside the Castle that day.

Joe nodded, wondering whether it really was the dreadful weather that made her feel the way she did. He saw an issue of CV lying on the Queen's desk. The cover line that had sold so many copies was gone.

OoOoOoO

Naturally Joe questioned Charlotte.

´I accidentally tore part of the cover...´ the secretary admitted.

She held up some sheets of paper.

CV's index could be found on page three, and removing that page also resulted in pages four, fifty-seven and fifty-eight being gone. The interview on page thirty-nine caused pages forty, twenty-one and twenty-two to be missing. A column by the famous writer Charles Devereaux and an article in the show section with pictures of Her Majesty (one photo showing the appreciation of the President of Brazil for the Queen's voluptuous elegance) accounted for eight more pages being removed.

´Isn't it horrible,´ Charlotte said, ´something went wrong when the magazine was put together.´

OoOoOoO

When Joe entered the kitchen to have lunch, he caught the words: ´...have a bosom. Although most of the time she's covering it.´

´Well, there are some curves she can't co- Ow!´ The speaker angrily looked at the colleague who had kicked his leg. When seeing the frightened look in the man's eyes, he proved to have a quick mind.

´Yeah, Sophia Loren has some _fine_ curves!´

His lunch mates exhaled, for the Head of Security didn't have a choice but to walk to the buffet.

...

Joe followed Charlotte to the table where Viscountess Margoli and some other high ranked courtiers were seated. The noblewoman had met the Queen that day and not being a fool, she'd not mentioned a certain magazine. She was ever so curious though.

´How did Her Majesty respond to the articles?´ the Viscountess innocently asked Charlotte.

´I tore everything out. She doesn't know.´

´I wonder if that was a smart decision Miss Kut-away.´

Lord Radras smirked.

Charlotte blushed and tried to sound dignified: ´What do you mean?´

´When Her Majesty and I inspected the refurnished Siam Room, she received a note from the Prime Minister. She then left to go to the House of Parliament.´

OoOoOoO

Mr Motaz had been reluctant to request Her Majesty to come to Parliament but the criticism a treaty with Morocco had met made her interference necessary.

The objections voiced by the MPs were brushed aside by the Queen's replies.

Mr Artagnan claimed the pulpit.

Because a _boring_ speaker would never enter a _daring_ subject, he planned to discuss the freedom of speech in Morocco, in a cunning attempt to end up with the contents of CV.

The fact that the treaty was about civil law was the least of Artagnan's problems: Her Majesty refused to take his bait.

He mentioned that a paper such as the critical Pyran Courier or a magazine such as CV would never be allowed in Morocco. The Queen asked him whether his idea on freedom of press would influence his vote for the item that was under discussion.

´It seems to me that countries that sign treaties should be equals ma'am.´

´Countries _are_ each others equals.´

´But _we_ have freedom of speech, they don't.´

´Advocating that right is a worthy cause Mr Artagnan. This treaty however concerns guardianship and the children and parents it concerns will care whether they can keep seeing each other. The writings of the press, Genovian or Moroccan, will not be on their priority list.´

Supportive drumming on the tables made Artagnan realise he'd better return to his seat.

The MPs shook their heads. What had Artagnan expected to accomplish? Make her blush? Make her uncomfortable by reminding her of the actor's praise? What a gaffe...

Those parliamentarians who didn't have a subscription to CV had been informed about the interview by their peers. Williams's short description of Her Majesty's various attractions wasn't hard to learn by heart.

The treaty no longer having secrets, the Chairman of Parliament announced a brief intermission after which there would be a vote.

The Prime Minister accompanied Her Majesty toward the exit. He looked straight ahead, even when thanking the Queen for her help. Lord forbid that his eyes would accidentally roam her body! He had too much respect for women in general and for Her Majesty in particular to see them as objects.

In case you imagine the MPs to tilt their heads to see their Queen leave: spot-on!

OoOoOoO

Charlotte hurried toward the House of Parliament with an upset stomach and sweaty palms. Removing certain pages from CV had seemed a good thing to do, but right now she recalled that the Queen very much disliked it when information was kept from her. She inwardly repeated what she would tell Her Majesty, but when she rounded a corner and bumped straight into the Queen, all her clever excuses were forgotten.

´Careful Charlotte.´

The secretary registered that her employer didn't seem angry or even upset.

´I am sorry ma'am! I really am,´ Charlotte started. A servant from Parliament approached Her Majesty to hand her a note, saying it didn't require a reply.

When the servant was (kindly) dismissed, the Queen, instead of reading the note, gave her attention to her secretary.

Charlotte started babbling.

OoOoOoO

Her Majesty entered her office holding the pages Charlotte had sheepishly handed her.

After reading the interview, the Queen acknowledged the truth of Charlotte's prediction: she didn't like it.

Butt? She _most certainly_ did _not_ have a _butt_. If she couldn't avoid referring to it _herself_, she'd call it _behind_. There was no need for anyone to name that part of her body. _Nice butt! _

She supposed she should feel flattered by what Mr Williams had said, but knowing that people would comment her behind ruined the compliment.

At least the actor _was _familiar with the word bosom: no one would talk about her _boobies_.

The Queen shivered.

Needing a distraction, she opened the note the servant from Parliament had given her.

_Your Majesty, _

_I would like to apologise for Mr Artagnan referring to CV. _

_Please allow me to say that I envy Mr Devereaux's skills with the pen._

_Respectfully yours, _

_Arthur Mabrey_

If there _hadn't_ been an encounter in an elevator, if there _hadn't_ been small talk in a gallery, if there _hadn't_ been a rainy day and a shared umbrella, the Queen would have guessed that Devereaux had written something nasty about her sons, her late husband or herself. The Viscount _would_ have relished that.

Even an innocent remark such as ´Williams needs to visit an optician´ or ´We all have our strange preferences´ or... (the Queen gave it another thought) ´A man who thinks the Ice Queen is hot must be gay´ would have made Mabrey chuckle.

Devereaux was a _gentleman_ though. As for the Viscount: the Queen believed that he had taken a liking to her_._ She thought about B's warning.

´Well C,´ she told herself, ´there's only one way to find out, isn't there?´

A little nervous – for she very much liked Devereaux's books and the idea of being played by the Viscount didn't sit well with her- she started reading the column (subtitled 'musings').

It didn't take long before a becoming blush and a soft smile graced her features.


	11. A game and bedtime talk

Chapter 11 - A game and bedtime talk

Archbishop Michael of Pyrus was the sort of man you imagine a priest _should_ be: kind, easy going, intelligent, a good listener, not a sexist and someone who first and foremost believed in _humans_. He was also shrewd for he _had_ made it to the top of the church.

Now, this gentleman had a particular hobby. I wish I could spare you this, but it can't be avoided: Michael, archbishop of Pyrus, liked to play rummikub.

He hardly ever found people who would play with him. Over the years he'd tried to persuade his housekeeper, his butler, his secretary and various others to play with him once a week or so, but they were always ever so busy. Several priests and bishops would be honoured to play, and it _had_ crossed the Archbishop's mind to ask them, but he had felt that relying in people's goodness might be a bit foolish in this case. If they won, they'd probably start planning his resignation afterwards.

This evening he had a visitor.

´What do you say of this vodka Joe?´

´It's excellent Michael.´

Joe really looked like he could use some distraction, Michael sensed.

He picked up a rummikub box from the chair next to his.

´I very much like this game, but no one wants to play with me.´

Joe gave him a small smile, for he pictured Michael at age six.

´I once asked Her Majesty and she looked at me and said _rummikub?_´

Joe smiled again, eyes included.

´It made me feel I had suggested something naughty.´

Joe didn't like the word naughty. It reminded him of his nights. That blasted interview had given him dreams that didn't exactly focus on teasing eyes.

They were playing for some five minutes, when Michael asked Joe what was wrong.

´Well, I can't get rid of this blue eight.´

Michael checked the combinations on the table.

´No, you can't. But that's not it. What is it? Health problems?´

Joe shook his head and pretended to be glad to find a way to rid himself of an orange four and a yellow twelve.

Sometimes, Michael reasoned, you just have to let the silence speak.

They started another bout.

Then again, sometimes two can play at that game and then you need to take action.

´Ha! I've got my thirty points!´ Michael grinned, melding his tiles on the table. ´Everything at work going well?´

´Business as usual.´

´That's good to hear.´

Joe drew a tile from the pool and so did Michael.

´Your family is all right?´ Michael asked.

Joe confirmed it.

As Joe placed four differently coloured tiles of twelve on the table, he said: ´I'm in love.´

´Ah! So that's why you look so... pensive. Shouldn't you be sitting on a cloud?´

Joe kept staring at the tiles in front of him.

´She isn't in love with you?´

´She doesn't know.´

´Tell her!´

´I can't.´

´Why not, is she married?´

Joe shook his head and gestured that it was Michael's turn.

Michael didn't even bother to check his rack.

´So? Does she _know_ you?´

´Yes.´

´So she might have feelings for you!´

Joe snorted.

´What's that about Joe? For all you know – Oh! She's a colleague! Are you afraid that if you speak out, and she isn't interested, your professional relationship might be burdened?´

Michael hastened to explain himself for Joe gave him a stare.

´Not that I think she could_ not_ be interested in you: you've got a lot to offer Joe Romero!´

Joe shook his head.

´Joe please! You are both professionals, aren't you? So _if_ she says 'No', you can be friends. And when she says 'Yes', you'll be in heaven. What could possibly happen?´

When Joe still didn't speak, Michael thought of something.

´Do you think Her Majesty will disapprove when two of her employees are having a relationship?´

Joe took a sip from his drink.

´O really Joe. You know her better than that!´

OoOoOoO

Viscount Mabrey had invited three men over to play bridge. Gervais Santerre was his bridge partner. The others will not be of importance to the story and are referred to as Tom and Jerry.

The men were now having a drink (two waters, a soda and a beer) and Gervais told his fellow men that he was glad to have escaped his family.

Mabrey smirked: ´Is she getting on your nerves with all the wedding talk?´

´Stop it. I have to act as an intermediary. Lucien and Sofia are writing their own vows and Louise hates anything that reminds her of the sixties. Our son plans to tell the whole church about what he always wanted to find in a woman and how he found it in Sofia.´

Jerry shook his head.

´My my,´ Mabrey said. ´And what does he want a woman to be?´

´The usual I suppose,´ Jerry replied, wiping away his white moustache. ´Pretty, smiling, caring... you name it.´

´Either Arthur _can't_ do that,´ Gervais said, ´or his list is so long that no one can live up to it.´

_All this water doesn't do him any good_, Mabrey mused.

When their host remained silent, the guests started to question him.

´Well,´ Mabrey at last sighed, ´a woman should be charming and elegant.´

´If have met _many_ such women. That makes your marital state somewhat unexplainable.´

Mabrey gave his friend an icy stare. Tom and Jerry feared it might be a short evening.

But then Mabrey smirked, took a breath and said: ´Charm, elegance, poise, beauty, wit, intelligence, wisdom, knowledge, diplomatic skills, self confidence, kindness, charisma. Now, how many ladies like that do you know?´

´If you don't mind polygamy, I can introduce you to some women.´

The men laughed.

OoOoOoO

The Archbishop lit a candle.

He had not flattered his friend when he'd said that Joe had a lot to offer.

Joe was intelligent, witty, kind, honourable.

There wouldn't be many women who wouldn't enjoy Joe's attentions. Mothers and sisters would fall for his charms, while fathers and brothers would be in awe for his profession.

He shrugged. Joe was too modest. He'd finally found the woman of his dreams and now he didn't act.

_May you be granted strength, Joe Romero._

OoOoOoO

´How was your game of bridge darling?´

´Fine. Arthur and I won. And I am sure I've lost more weight than _he_ did.´

´What did you talk about?´

´Oh, the usual,´ Gervais said, taking of his robe, ´Politics. Women.´

Louise, who lied in bed reading a novel, looked at the ceiling.

´No no, not like that. Whatshisname said that a woman should be smiling and caring. Then I challenged Arthur to reveal what _his_ ideal woman looked like.´

Gervais laid down next to his wife. Louise placed her book on the bedside table.

´Can you recall what he expects of Lady Perfect?´

´Poise and intelligence,´ Gervais started.

´Are you _sure_ you talked to _Arthur_?´

´Shh. Beauty and wit...´

´Wit? _Arthur_? Arthur _Mabrey_?´

The Santerres drifted to sleep.

Suddenly Gervais mumbled: ´He said a woman should have charisma.´

´Right!´ Louise yawned, ´All his talking about women being breed mares. He just hadn't found the right one. Until now.´

OoOoOoO

Feeling he would have difficulty sleeping, Joe went to the gym to exercise himself into obliviousness.

He didn't know whether he was relieved or disappointed when Michael had not pressed him for the identity of his beloved.

Beloved?

He loved her, true. He loved the way she walked and the way she raised her eyebrows when something amused or annoyed her. He loved the way she approached technical devices. He relished her throaty laughter. He admired her for so many reasons: her intelligence, her poise, her kindness toward her subjects, her wit, her elegance, her devotion to her country.

Can you love someone who thinks of you as of a friend?

Can you be friends with someone you call Your Majesty?

OoOoOoO

Arthur Mabrey whistled for Obelix to return to his side.

The dog belonged to Mabrey's aunt Agate, who had ended up in hospital with a broken leg. Mabrey liked his aunt and had offered to take care of her pet. Obelix needed long walks and since exercise helps a man to lose weight, Mabrey took the opportunity. He found that he enjoyed walking a dog. It was nice to have a companion. The Borzoi occasionally barked when Mabrey spoke (´The weather is fine Obelix´) and the Viscount had the feeling – a feeling thousands of pet owners have – that the animal _understood_ him.

´I wonder what she thought of my note,´ the Viscount told Obelix.

The dog kindly looked at him. Mabrey nodded.

´Yes, I know I can't expect her to come to me and say...´

He sighed.

´Say what? Maybe she thinks I'm sucking up to her.´

The dog made a small noise.

Mabrey nodded: ´I know: I can't blame her.´

Man and dog walked in silence for a while.

OoOoOoO

The latest issue of CV had been an eye-opener to Arthur Mabrey.

He'd known who the _hot Queen_ was without having to read the interview. He'd _known_. And _not_ because if was logical that an actor who was interviewed by a Genovian journalist would refer to the Genovian Queen.

He'd realised he'd fallen for her.

It wasn't something that had happened in the blink of an eye, he told himself. That would have been absurd. A little voice in the back of his mind mumbled something about an elevator and being smitten, but he preferred to listen to voices saying that it had been a gradual process.

Months ago she'd been _that woman_. And that had been the _nice_ description. Frigid, cold, arrogant...

This evening he'd heard himself describe the ideal woman and to him it had been so obvious who he was referring to, that he'd been surprised that Gervais hadn't guessed the identity of the _one_ lady who ticked off all requirements on his list.

Surprised and relieved.

It was understandable: he had not made his feelings for the Queen a secret, at least not to his friends. No one would believe that he'd fallen for Her Majesty any more than they'd believe he was attracted to Woody Allen.

How to proceed?

_She_ was a lady and she'd treated him more kindly than he'd deserved. Perhaps she didn't hold his previous behaviour against him?

OoOoOoO

´I could request an audience? But then, about what? Maybe I should just wander in the Castle's gardens more often?´

Obelix barked.

´Yes,´ Arthur agreed, ´I'll do that.´


	12. A wedding and a walk

Chapter 12 - A wedding and a walk

Lucien Santerre was not a VIP as a result of a particular accomplishment. But then: most VIPs aren't, are they?

Lucien's father was wealthy, his mother was the daughter of a British baron and he himself was handsome. Since turning seventeen he had seen his face in the gossip magazines on a regular basis, for not only did he have good looks, he also liked to party. Today he had gotten married and he had a journalist at his wedding. Well, a journalist... Elsie Penworthy.

Elsie was confident that Genovia hadn't seen the last of Lusty Lucien yet.

´What do you think of the bride, Miss Penworthy,´ the bridegroom's English aunt asked the gossip.

´She looks radiantly healthy,´ Elsie smiled.

´Such a fine girl, and blue blooded too, not that it matters of course,´ the lady replied.

Elsie excused herself for she had spotted Viscount Mabrey. She planned to demand the nobleman's comments about CV's Nice Butt issue.

OoOoOoO

Louise Santerre looked at her husband's friend while listening to her sister-in-law who defended her belief that once a single man passed forty-five, he'd remain a bachelor all his life.

´He _is_ in love Patricia,´ Louise stated.

Patricia shrugged.

´What about Miss Penworthy?´ she suggested, ´Look at the way she's glancing at his body.´

The ladies saw the gossip touch the nobleman's arm. Louise shook her head.

´Listen carefully darling, Arthur said that a lady should have _poise_.´

OoOoOoO

'I am sure _you_ will win the bet,' Elsie meanwhile whispered at the Viscount.

Mabrey feigned surprise.

'How did you...'

Elsie started nodding like a doggie on a dashboard. Combined with her triumphant smile, it was quite a sight. Mabrey bore it well.

A lady from the Viscount's acquaintance came to say hello. She ignored Elsie, and was repaid for that when she left: Elsie signalled her photographer to take a picture of the woman's frame filling back.

'I wonder,' she winked, 'what Hector Williams would make of _that_.'

Mabrey took a sherry and a glass of water from a waiter's tray.

He offered the booze to Elsie, who tried to hide her pleasure that the Viscount had remembered what she liked to drink.

´I think,´ Mabrey innocently mused, ´that it was a waste of Mr Borria's talents to have him interview that actor.´

Elsie tried another approach.

´What did _you_ think of Williams's remarks about our Queen?´

´The phrasing was not to my liking,´ Mabrey replied.

´Butt?´ Elsie grinned.

_But the praising was_, Mabrey thought.

´But what do you expect from an American.´

OoOoOoO

´When I was a girl,´ Louise told Arthur as they foxtrotted, ´I spent many hours picturing my wedding day.´

´Did you really?´

´Didn't you?´

´Not when I was a girl.´

Louise giggled for which she hated herself. She decided to go for the blunt approach.

´Was Elsie trying to find out the identity of the lucky lady you're in love with?´

For a moment the Viscount stiffened. Louise noticed it with pleasure.

´We're _women_ Arthur, we _sense_ those things.´

´Let me guess Louise, a wedding leads to a wedding and I am the only bachelor around?´

´There are several bachelors Arthur, but you're the only one who told Gervais about the ideal woman.´

´Ah.´

´I am not asking you to reveal who she is. It's much more fun to find out myself,´ she grinned.

The Viscount laughed. To Louise's chagrin it sounded amused, not nervous.

´I will not deny you that pleasure,´ Mabrey said, ´But bear in mind that I will only attend other people's weddings.´

OoOoOoO

Mabrey's casual behaviour made Mrs Santerre need confirmation about him being hit by Cupid. A few days after the wedding she asked a smart friend, Lady Martin, to think about what a man like Arthur Mabrey might seek in a woman. Viviane Martin didn't hesitate: ´She should be obedient, presentable and quiet.´

Louise had questioned her husband until he'd remembered more things Mabrey had said about Lady Perfect. She passed the information to her friend, who cried out: ´The old fox must be in love!´

Louise and Viviane named one after the other lady, married women included, who might have caught Arthur's heart.

None of their guesses came any where near the truth and I think that is for the best. Will you follow me to the Castle's gardens?

OoOoOoO

Here we are: the Queen is taking her wire-haired pointer for a walk.

After being locked in her office for hours, the Queen liked the exercise.

´Come on Olivier,´ she encouraged her pet, ´let's stop wandering.´

The dog rather liked it that his Mistress often paused to look around her when he was protecting her on her walks. He made an effort to follow her, he really did, but he was fifteen years old and his hind legs didn't always cooperate, something he'd managed to hide so far.

Before he knew it, his Mistress was walking far ahead of him. He vaguely recalled that there was a way to draw her attention, but he couldn't remember what it was, so he just laid down, somehow confident that his Mistress would come back for him.

Her Majesty couldn't get her work out of her mind though and she was so used to having Olivier trailing along, that she didn't notice that he wasn't accompanying her any more.

When she rounded a hedge, she almost bumped into a man fixing his shoe laces.

I need not tell you that this man was Viscount Mabrey. When rounding the hedge from the opposite side, he'd seen the Queen approaching. He'd withdrawn behind the green shelter, breathing in deeply: finally!

´I'm sorry Your Majesty,´ he said, when looking up _after_ her surprised gasp. ´I hope I didn't frighten you?´

´I will grant you that you've _surprised_ me.´

The Viscount rose and looked at her so kindly, that she added with a smile: ´You seem to be in a habit of doing so lately.´

Arthur Mabrey inclined his head.

´You are enjoying some fresh air before returning to the House of Parliament?´

´Aye ma'am.´

´I am walking my dog,´ the Queen explained her presence in her own gardens.

Queen Clarisse wasn't a vain woman and when people praised her appearance, she always took it with a grain of salt. Still, it occurred to her that Arthur Mabrey, who'd let her know that he agreed with Charles Devereaux's kind words, might now feel sorry for having done so. She admitted that she wouldn't like that, but what could she do about it? It was all in the eye of the beholder...

She looked around the hedge.

´Olivier?´

The Viscount stepped next to her. The small lane was deserted.

´The dog must have wandered of. Maybe he went hunting?´

The Queen smiled.

´His Majesty used to take him hunting, but that was many years ago. I'd better go back to see where he is. Good day Viscount.´

´Two will see more than one. May I accompany you ma'am?´

´You _may_ Viscount.´

The Queen told the Viscount that she wished she'd looked behind her more often, for Olivier was getting old age problems.

The nobleman assured her that her pet would be just fine.

While they both checked side paths, Arthur Mabrey distracted the Queen's thoughts by telling her about his aunt's dog.

´I had a beagle when I was a child, but I've never had a dog again until now and I like its company,´ he concluded.

The Queen nodded.

´I know. My younger son once suggested to buy me a cat, but I declined. Cats may be companionable, but only if _they_ feel like it.´

When she saw her dog, she walked faster. Mabrey followed in her trail.

Olivier raised his head from his paws and tried to stand, but he had to settle for sitting.

The Queen knelt next to her pet.

´What is it Olivier?´

She gently touched his hind legs, and when it didn't cause the dog pain, she coaxed him into coming with her. The dog looked at her and laid down again.

Arthur Mabrey realised with shame that not too long ago he would have enjoyed the fact that the Queen's dog did not obey her. Recalling the last days of his childhood pet he could only feel sorry now.

The Queen knelt next to the animal and caressed his head. ´Your legs are on strike, aren't they Olivier? We'll get you to a doctor and you'll be fine before you can say bark. All you have to do is _sit_.´

The dog responded to his Mistress's kind command.

Placing her arms around the trembling dog, the Queen planned to lift him. The Viscount quickly stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder.

´Please Your Majesty, the dog is too heavy for you. Allow me.´

He stepped to the dog's other side and knelt down.

Olivier's lack of response to a stranger so near him, or near _her_ for that matter, made the Queen nod and rise. She briefly bit her lower lip.

OoOoOoO

You wonder where the Queen's guards are, don't you? They have not been dismissed, so what about them?

It's a long story, involving two guards on royal shift and a guard in the monitor room. I will give you a summary: when the cat's away, the mice will play.

The cat being the Head of Security. He and part of his men were on a team outing. The mice being Monet (answering Nature's call), Bruni (being bored and seeing a nice maid) and, in the monitor room, Vilais (playing with the toys and accidentally blocking the cameras).

It was a bit of a farce really. When Bruni spotted Olivier, Her Majesty had only _just_ disappeared out of sight. In a few moments she would return, accompanied by Viscount Mabrey. Alas: Bruni had already taken a short cut toward where Monet would be waiting.

When the two anxious guards, after a short discussion, returned to the spot where Bruni had seen the dog, the animal was gone. Monet contacted Vilais who wasn't too willing to admit that he'd lost sight of Her Majesty for over a minute already.

A farce indeed.

OoOoOoO

You can imagine the guards' relief when they heard Her Majesty call out for them.

The Queen sounded impatient which meant she was all right! Hurrah!

They hasted toward her and at her request contacted Miss Kutaway to have her call the vet.

Monet, to make up for his unprofessional behaviour, offered to carry Olivier. (He forgot that acting a bodyguard carrying twenty-three kilos of dog might be difficult.)

Arthur Mabrey wouldn't have the animal taken away from him even if it were twice as heavy.


	13. The strength to be vulnerable

Chapter 13 - The strength to be vulnerable

It was near midnight when Joe returned from the team building outing (climbing in a hall, dining at a steak house and visiting a casino).

He had called in several times during his absence so it surprised him when Capras answered his ´All's well?´ with an uncertain expression on his handsome face.

It didn't take long for Capras to inform the Head of Security about what had been kept from him by others. The young guard noticed his boss's glance at the grand stairs leading to the Queen's suite. He obligingly told him that Her Majesty was in her _office_.

´She sat with him all evening, or so I've heard sir,´ he explained.

OoOoOoO

As Joe made it for the Queen's office, he cursed the fact that she couldn't even sit with her dying animal without having to make up for _lost_ time later on.

OoOoOoO

When Joe stepped into Her Majesty's office, the Queen took off her glasses and – with a tired smile that didn't reach her eyes- asked him was how the team outing had been.

´I heard about Olivier ma'am,´ Joe replied.

The Queen briefly touched her painful neck and walked to a window to adjust a curtain.

´I wish you'd called me. Let me know. I would have returned.´

´Oh Joseph, what could you have done?´

´Be there.´

The Queen gave him a feeble smile and bit her lower lip. She sat down on a sofa.

´I never realised he was _that_ sick,´ she sadly said.

Staring at her lap she shrugged.

´He didn't run any more, or catch sticks, or join me on every walk, but I thought it was old age. And he was given other food, and medicine as well but ...´ she shrugged again.

Joe saw that she was biting her cheeks.

´He was your _pet_,´ he softly said. ´It's all right to cry.´

But still she tried not to.

´He always made the King laugh when chasing ducks into ditches,´ the Queen recalled. Her voice trembled.

´He was a good dog,´ Joe said, adding: ´a good guardsman too.´

The Queen, recalling the moment in the garden when she realised Olivier was really sick, couldn't stop her tears from falling.

Joe offered her his handkerchief.

Sad as the occasion was, it felt good to support her.

OoOoOoO

At nine the next morning the Queen called her sons to tell them about Olivier's sudden death.

Pierre was affected, not because he'd been fond of the animal, but because he realised that his mother would miss her companion.

Philippe was surrounded by gay people and about to embark on a yacht. His mother's voice, sounding sad, made him feel guilty. He told her the dog had had a good life.

OoOoOoO

Just when Her Majesty, accompanied by her Head of Security, was to make it for the House of Parliament, Charlotte hasted toward her.

´Ma'am, I almost forgot: Viscount Mabrey called me this morning. He inquired after Olivier's health. I told him the dog had died and he asked me to tell you that he was sorry.´

Joe couldn't see the Queen's expression, but from the sound of her voice when she thanked Charlotte for her _timely_ message, he would swear she smiled.

_He_ didn't.

OoOoOoO

Need I tell you that Bruni and Monet (and later on Vilais as well) were questioned? And that they didn't particularly enjoy it?

Need I say that Joe Romero _again_ wished he'd never gone on a stupid outing?

OoOoOoO

Unlike her sons, Clarisse's friend Beatrix (B for short) knew what to say when she heard about Olivier's death.

She comforted Clarisse all the way from The Hague and reminded her of the time Olivier had had a dive, and then had shaken himself dry near the place where they were having a picnic, causing their lemon pie to be covered in duck-weed.

´I went to the lake this morning, to find a cobble for his grave.´

´Were you successful?´

Clarisse nodded.

´Are you nodding?´

´Yes I was,´ Clarisse answered with a smile. She toyed with her glasses.

´Do you know who carried Olivier back inside yesterday?´

´I'm shaking my head.´

´Viscount Mabrey.´

´Ah.´

´Yes. He happened to be in the gardens and he was... kind. I felt more or less comfortable with him around.´

´Define _more or less_.´

´Had I never met him before, I would like him without reserve.´

OoOoOoO

Using a waterproof marker, the Queen turned the cobble she'd selected into a grave stone.

She first wrote down _1979 – 1994 _and above these dates the name of her pet.

Other Renaldis might have added 'dearest dog' or 'brave hunter' or 'faithful companion'.

On some of the stones in the shadowy part of the garden where the pets of the royal family were laid to rest, the name of the animal's owner could be found.

But lines like 'Moxy (1912-1920), beloved dachshund of princes Blaise' made Queen Clarisse shiver. Seeing her _own_ name on a grave stone was _not_ to her liking.

The name of Olivier's first owner, King Rupert, was cut out in marble in the royal tomb-house underneath the Cathedral. His widow had nearly gotten sick when she'd read it on the day he was entombed: the father of her sons, her friend, was truly gone.

As she walked into her gardens to place the cobble on her dog's grave, she mused about friendship.

She knew many people whose company she liked. But that didn't make them her friends. Or her theirs for that matter. With the Archbishop of Pyrus and Prime Minister Motaz she had a relationship that was bordering on friendship.

_Why don't I call them friends?_

She stood for a moment to get a better hold on the cobble.

´May I carry it for you Your Majesty?´

She hadn't noticed her Head of Security to be near, but she wasn't surprised.

´It is not heavy.´

´Yes it is,´ Joseph observed, ´Please allow me.´

He grabbed hold of the stone. The Queen gave him an absent minded smile.

_Perhaps I am not sure whether they would like me if I _weren't _a Queen? _

_No Clarisse, _she answered her own question, _those two men are not like that. _

_Perhaps I am comparing them to B?_

She shook her head.

_Friendship may come in gradations. Beatrix is my sounding-board and my confidant. Not every friend needs to be _that _close to my heart. _

She heard a gardener, yet invisible, tell a colleague a joke. The moment she appeared in their field of view, the joker shut up and busied himself by cleaning a rake.

_B doesn't require me to be regal. If _I _want to slouch on a couch, _she _will curl up in a chair and grin at me. I can be myself with her. Simply Clarisse. With _her _I don't have to enter the stage as _Her Majesty_. That's the point isn't it?_

She was nearing the unspectacular pet graveyard.

_To all others I am first and foremost the Queen. And I have to be. I represent an institute, not a woman. _

She recalled her brother having called her a private person. And she'd only been eleven years old then. Having reached Olivier's grave she addressed her Head of Security.

´This is a good spot, wouldn't you agree Joseph?´

By way of reply Joe carefully placed the stone on the earth. He took a few steps backwards to allow his Queen some privacy.

_I don't have many friends. But if I had _not _become a Queen, I might not have had many either. For I _am _a private person. How many people do I trust well enough to show -_

Suddenly the Queen looked behind her, at her Head of Security.

´Ma'am?´

_Joseph. I trust Joseph. I cried in his presence. _

She rose, looking at the grave again.

_There are two persons in the whole world to whom I dare show my vulnerable side and one of them calls me ma'am. _

´Your Majesty?´

_Your Majesty._

She stared down at the cobble, vaguely aware of Joseph mumbling something.

The Head of Security cleared his throat.

´Ma'am, Charlotte told me that it is time for you to -´

´Return for my appointment with the new American ambassador. I know.´

OoOoOoO

It was past ten o'clock in the evening when the Queen completed the last of her tasks. For today.

She removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking about the idea that had formed in her mind that afternoon.

_What if he just sees me as his employer? What if to him it would be merely a part of his job description?_

She briefly bent her head backwards.

_But he really seems to like _me. _Just as I like him._ _Why _shouldn't _I allow myself another friend? It might be awkward that he's my employee also, but surely he too can switch between public and private? _

_But what if my _public _actions make him dislike _me_? What if I act too friendly to him in public and the courtiers notice that?_

I have the feeling that the Queen would have spent a few nights thinking things over, until a new letter from the Netherlands would make her feel all right about having _one_ true friend.

However, something insignificant happened to prevent this: on the Queen's desk laid a pile of papers and files, seemingly well-balanced, but in fact waiting for the proverbial butterfly to set things in motion.

It took a chair to be softly pushed against the desk for the pile to dissolve.

Something hitting the marble floor didn't go unnoticed by the Head of Security standing guard outside the office.

After a knock on the door and a ´Yes?´ in reply Joe entered to meet an enchanting sight: the Queen was squatting as best as she could in her pencil skirt, collecting papers.

´Allow me ma'am.´

´Again?´ the Queen smiled up at Joe.

He returned her smile and nodded.

´I live to serve ma'am.´

Her smile froze and she straightened up. Standing near the desk she accepted the papers Joseph handed her.

She busied herself rearranging them, leaving it to Joseph to pick up the folders.

Joe, noticing the temperature drop, quickly figured out what he'd done wrong. He desperately tried to think of a way to tell her he had _not_ meant to say that this was just... that he was only...

When placing the folders on the desk, he hadn't come up with a proper line yet.

The Queen _had_.

´Was that simply an expression Joseph?´

´Si! It was.´

His eager reply made her smile return.

She turned around to face him.

´I'm glad for that. For I've come to think of you as of a friend.´

She looked at Joseph intently.

His happy expression made her exhale.

The bright smile on her face made him feel warm all over.

´Friends?´ she asked, wanting to be absolutely sure.

´Friends.´

She cleared her throat.

´Then it would only be appropriate -when we are alone together - for you to call me by my name.´

OoOoOoO

Every night before she retired, the Queen would tell Olivier that she was going to bed and the dog would then walk her to her bedroom door.

Habits are executed without thinking, which is why the Queen, wearing pyjamas and a dressing-gown, now found herself in her sitting room looking for her pet.

It took a moment before she realised that the dog's basket would remain empty.

Entering her bedroom, she looked over her shoulder and imagined with a fond smile how the dog would have tiptoed from his basket to the door to guard her.

Guard. It made her think of her conversation with Joseph. She was proud of herself for having spoken to him.

Removing her dressing-gown she started humming: Joseph liked her for herself.

Her invitation to call her by her name had made him swallow first and then bow to kiss her hand. She suspected that the respectful gesture was meant to let her know he wouldn't betray her trust. When he'd looked up, he'd smiled from ear to ear. Friends.

He had not used her name yet, although she'd sensed that he had _wanted_ to. He probably needed to get used to the idea. Well, so had she.

It would be nice to have someone near to whom she would simply be Clarisse. If only occasionally.

She sighed with contentment. It was good to open up. She _shouldn't_ feel obliged to live in solitude all the time.

OoOoOoO

Was it _that_ strange that after thinking about friendship for hours and after learning that Joseph regarded her to be his friend, the Queen fell asleep thinking that she should write Viscount Mabrey a note to thank him for his kind help?


	14. That is what friends are for

Chapter 14 - That is what friends are for

It was chilly underneath the Cathedral. The Queen shivered as she placed a bouquet on her husband's tomb.

It was Rupert's birthday. Had he been alive he would have turned seventy-five.

Touching the marble the Queen felt a little guilty for preferring to remember her husband in the comfort of her suite rather than in the tomb-house.

When she entered the Cathedral again, she found the Archbishop waiting for her. A few metres behind him his assistant was pointing out something to her lady-in-waiting.

´Good morning,´ the Archbishop greeted her, taking her outstretched hands in his, ´I figured that after the coldness down there, you could do with a nice cup of hot tea.´

The Queen looked at Viscountess Margoli.

´You will have to leave in fifteen minutes Your Majesty.´

The Queen nodded in reply.

´I'd be delighted,´ she smiled at the Archbishop.

´I _figured_ you wouldn't have much time,´ the priest told the Queen, ´and therefore tea will be served in the vestry.´

´So we can try various robes?´ the Queen smiled.

The Archbishop grinned.

OoOoOoO

When you only have a quarter of an hour to spend, you don't waste it in talking about the weather.

The Archbishop asked the Queen whether her feeling of loss had become more bearable and she told him that unlike in the first year after his death, she didn't expect to bump into him any more.

´I look forward to having my sons with me,´ she added.

´They are here for the exhibition about the King's life,´ the Archbishop guessed.

´Yes, and they will stay for almost a week! My afternoons are completely free, so I can spend a lot of time with them.´

´Good. You need to relax more often. I myself have a swim every morning and after eight thirty in the evening I lock myself in my sitting room with a book. Or a game of rummikub if I can find someone to play with me.´

He repeatedly raised his eyebrows.

The Queen laughed.

´Keep trying, but you will never succeed.´

The Archbishop sighed dramatically.

´Your Head of Security played with me some time ago.´

´Really? Did you threaten to excommunicate him if he didn't comply?´

The Archbishop chuckled.

The lady-in-waiting knocked on the door to inform the Queen that she had to leave in five minutes.

The Archbishop studied the Viscountess's hands.

´I found Joe a little tensed,´ he revealed after the noblewoman had closed the door.

´Oh?´

The Archbishop cleared his throat.

´I asked him what was wrong and he said that he was in love.´

The Queen put her cup and saucer on the table.

´_Joseph?_´

´Yes,´ the priest said, eagerly leaning forward, ´with a colleague of his, who doesn't know.´

´Why not?´

´_I_ think he feels it's not appropriate. And he's too modest a man. I believe that he can't imagine his beloved might be interested in him.´

´Joseph _is_ a modest man, true, but he is also Spanish...´

The Archbishop laughed aloud.

´I'll ask him,´ the Queen decided. She picked up her cup again.

The priest changed the subject by inquiring after the biography about the late King that would be published today.

´It's unauthorised... I only know that it closes with our engagement. I wouldn't be surprised to find his childhood days commented in the first ten pages and the rest being about his alleged _friends_.´

OoOoOoO

As the Archbishop and the Queen followed Viscountess Margoli to the waiting limousine, the priest studied the lady-in-waiting. She honoured Genovia by being pear-shaped.

Not knowing the Viscountess at all, the Archbishop didn't want to judge her on her appearance. Lord knew that when people first saw _him_, they thought him to be a retired civil servant who spent his days making puzzles of Austrian chalets while complaining that everything had been better in the past.

That being thought, Michael allowed himself to muse that the Viscountess appeared to be an arrogant lady. He couldn't imagine Joe to be attracted to her.

But still... He caught the Queen's eye and glanced toward the lady-in-waiting, mouthing _her?_

The Queen gave it a thought: what would Joseph seek in a woman? Viscountess Margoli was... independent and self confident... But she lacked humour and she had old fashioned ideas about rank, which didn't seem likely to attract Joseph.

When the Archbishop expectantly raised his eyebrows, the Queen shook her head.

OoOoOoO

Queen Clarisse understood that Joseph and she being friends didn't make him have to confide in her. She was sorry for Joseph's silence, but it was _his_ choice to make...

Did Joseph feel it was not appropriate to date a colleague because of _her_? Surely he didn't think she'd _object_?

The Queen smelled at the flowers people waiting outside the Cathedral had offered her.

The Viscountess, sitting next to her in the back seat of the car, noticed it and started chatting about how kind the good people of Genovia were and how much they still loved their late King.

Her Majesty gave a smile in reply and stared out of the window. Her lady-in-waiting held her tongue.

The Queen told herself that servants marrying servants had never caused problems, but then again, since it mostly concerned a maid and a gardener or a telephone operator and a driver, she wasn't likely to be made aware of any problems.

Ten years ago a lady-in-waiting had married a fellow courtier, the Master of Stables, and they had both stayed at the Castle without their work suffering from their marriage.

The Queen recalled that the five Heads of Security who had served her over the years, had all been single. One of them had married _after_ his retirement.

Should Joseph have a relationship, she would have to get used to that.

It sometimes happened that she contacted him, forgetting it was his day off. And still: he would be with her in minutes. Once he had a relationship he would have a private life of which _she_ wouldn't be a part, while _her_ private life (or what passed for it) would still be known to _him_. It would bring a different sort of inequality to their friendship.

She shrugged: she wanted her loyal friend to be happy and she would never obstruct his good fortune, no matter her personal feelings.

Whom could it be?

As she neared the Castle the subject of Joseph's love life was cast aside by the thought that her boys might have arrived already.

OoOoOoO

Their Royal Highnesses waited for their mother in front of the main entrance. The joy on her face as she saw them and the radiant smile with which she hugged them made them feel sorry for their long absence.

Both Charlotte and Joe witnessed the greeting and they smiled at each other at seeing the Renaldis together again.

Their fond exchange did not go unnoticed by the Queen.

OoOoOoO

Late in the evening the princes and their mother were chatting in the Queen's sitting room.

Philippe spotted some sheets of paper on a nearby coffee table. Recognising the handwriting he asked: ´Aunt Beatrix sent you a letter?´

The Queen nodded.

´_She_ never fails to reply any of mine.´

Pierre grinned.

´It seems aunt Beatrix makes up for _me_ being a poor correspondent,´ Philippe said, winking at his mother.

´Ha!´ the Queen exclaimed, ´Pumpkin, your aunt Beatrix spends more ink in _one_ letter than you do in an entire year.´

Pierre laughed.

´I'm not surprised Mother. If I get a postcard from my little brother with three lines on it, in reply to a handful of letters I sent him, I count myself a lucky man!´

´I get it all right, I should write more often,´ Philippe said, raising his hands in mock defeat.

´Or you could visit...´ the Queen suggested.

Pierre eyed his brother. Philippe nodded. The men seated themselves next to their mother on her sofa.

´We plan to come home more often Mother,´ Pierre said, ´You being here all alone... ´

´I wouldn't say I was _all_ alone. But I _would_ very much like it to have my boys with me more often,´ the Queen smiled. She pressed their hands and sighed happily.

´Very much,´ she softly repeated.

OoOoOoO

Immediately after lunch the next day the Queen and her sons changed into riding gear.

Her Majesty was not aware of the glances the stable boys gave her, but prince Philippe _was_. It reminded him of something.

´So mother,´ he said, ´I read you made a conquest?´

Prince Pierre shook his head, but his brother didn't heed his advice.

´A conquest?´ the Queen asked, while offering her mare half an apple.

´Yes Mother!´ the prince replied, ´And a youthful conquest as well.´

The Queen looked at her first born.

Pierre shrugged.

´He means that actor. Williams.´

´Ah,´ the Queen said.

´Father would have laughed his head off,´ Philippe encouraged.

His mother replied by looking at the ceiling.

As it happened the Queen and Pierre rode side by side and Philippe gestured Joe (who'd been waiting outside with the two other guards on duty) to join _him_.

The prince started chatting but at first Joe only made the _appearance_ of listening: the Queen had his full attention. Her long leather riding boots and her curve following riding jacket made him daydream. The shaft on her upper leg (which held a knife to cut apples or to remove stones from a horseshoe) added a sensual touch to his fantasies.

´Is the Williams interview a sensitive subject with the Queen?´ the prince asked Joe.

´I don't think it is Your Highness.´

´Her Majesty probably wasn't too pleased with it though?´ Philippe casually remarked.

The Head of Security shook his head.

The Williams interview had made the prince aware that his mother was a fine looking woman. To his vivid imagination it was a small step from his mother being praised for her looks and her husky voice (for crying out loud!) to her having an admirer.

´There's no one... is there?´

´I'm sorry?´

´The Queen. She's not...?´

It took Joe a moment to understand what the prince meant.

His Royal Highness seemed content with Joe's expression.

´I couldn't imagine really. It's just that... well... Time _has_ been kind to her.´

Joe, feeling the impropriety of the prince's questioning, made a sound that could mean anything.

After riding in silence for a while, he boldly asked the prince whether he would mind should the Queen find someone to lo-

The prince didn't let him finish his line. He raised an eyebrow and told Joe that the Queen was still mourning his father.

´As for love, she's got my brother and myself. And friends.´

´True but...´

´This is _not_ for discussion Joe.´

Though Joe refrained from commenting, the prince, despite what he'd just said, couldn't stop himself from re-entering the subject. The Williams interview and the comments it had caused had unnerved him.

Children, no matter their age, often find the idea of their parents being sexual beings distasteful (just as parents rather not think about their offspring having intercourse) and the prince made no exception to the rule.

Philippe had his horse walk closer to Joe's and whispered:

´Her Majesty very well knows that as long as she's a Queen Regent she is not free to pursue _love_. And even afterwards – ´

The prince eyed Joe. The Head of Security was watching the Queen, his face blank. Philippe was suddenly aware that Joe was his mother's age and the only man who was in close contact with her. And what had his mother said yesterday? _I wouldn't say I was _all _alone._

´Besides, she is a King's widow. Who could be a suitable companion for her?´

The Queen was riding some thirty metres in front of them.

To Joe she seemed far far away.

After a while they heard barking.

´I didn't know the kennel was used again.´

´The dog belonged to Mr Artois's daughter,´ was all the explanation Joe gave.

The prince, seeing that his mother and brother made their horses go at a trot, made his horse quicken her pace.

´Her Majesty thinks she found it a new master,´ Joe mumbled at the prince's back before following the royals.


	15. A bright morning

Chapter 15 - A bright morning

Holding a delicate cup made Arthur Mabrey feel big and clumsy. At least there weren't any flowers adorning the porcelain.

Her Majesty informed after his aunt's health.

´She is fine again ma'am, thank you.´

´Has she claimed her dog yet?´

´She _has_ ma'am.´

´Do you miss him?´

´I do. But at least I know that he's all right.´

It earned him an understanding smile.

´Would you like to have a dog of your own Viscount?´

´I very much would. But I need to make the right choice. I don't want a dog who camps near the fireplace.´

His comment made her smile. _Her_ smile made _him_ smile.

Having finished her tea, she put down her cup.

´The reason why I asked Viscount is that I think I might have the right dog for you.´

´Ma'am?´

´My huntsman will be a grandfather soon,´ the Queen started to explain, ´and his daughter fears that her dog might not take kindly toward her baby. He asked my permission to have the animal stay in the kennel until he'd found him a new Master. I think he thought that the dog might replace Olivier, but _I_ have a feeling that you and he will get along.´

Mabrey didn't know what to say.

´Please don't feel obliged Viscount. I'd appreciate it if you had a look at him and if you say _no_, than no it is.´

The Viscount, putting down his cup, looked around, half expecting the animal to pop up after the Queen's introduction.

´Will you come with me? We can discuss the things at hand while we walk.´

´It will be my pleasure Your Majesty.´

OoOoOoO

On their way to the kennel the Viscount heard himself say that it was hard to think of laws and social issues (of which his Queen and he had been talking about) on a lovely spring day as this.

´The colours are returning again,´ he remarked, gesturing toward some crocuses.

´I never fail to be pleased by that,´ the Queen replied with an enchanting smile.

´Yet the only colour _you _wear is the soft blue in your shawl ma'am.´

The Queen searched the MP's face.

What would _you_ do if all you saw was kindness and admiration? What would _you_ do if you saw the Viscount wipe his hands on his pants?

Her Majesty tilted her head and shook it every so slightly, telling her companion that people _expected_ her to be dressed in black.

´Next week I will attend the wedding of one of my godsons, and because black is not acceptable on a festive day, I will be excused to wear the one colour permitted for widows: purple. Still, people will talk.´

´Perhaps they will,´ the Viscount replied,´but _if_ they do, I doubt their criticism will be negative.´

The Queen waved at her eldest son who was fishing in a nearby stream.

The prince – holding his angling-rod with both hands – smiled at her and nodded at the Viscount who'd politely inclined his head by way of greeting.

´We will have to wait and see,´ Her Majesty remarked.

As it happened she was weary of wearing black. It made her feel locked up. Philippe was no longer in mourning suit. Why shouldn't _she_ add more colour to her wardrobe than the blue or green spots in her shawls? She would let people gradually get used to her donning black. Starting tomorrow.

´Thank you Viscount.´

He looked at her, puzzled at her remark.

´For what ma'am?´

´For talking about colours.´

Not knowing what to say, Mabrey gave her a smile.

The kennel came in view.

´What is the dog's name?´

´Ernie.´

The Queen didn't miss the Viscount's expression.

´I didn't like it either and I renamed him.´

´Does he listen to his new name?´ the Viscount inquired while holding the kennel's door for his Queen.

´He does and I will prove so: Balthazar!´

A low bark answered her call and a giant form emerged from the shadows. The Viscount had the impression that the animal would run straight into his lady, and he pictured himself pushing her aside, against the wall, protecting her with his body. He stepped closer, just in case, not realising that being pushed aside by a huge dog or by an Arthur Mabrey wouldn't make much of a difference.

When the dog was about a metre and a half from colliding with the Queen, she commanded him to sit. The dog obeyed.

´Viscount, meet Balthazar, a Hungarian Kuvasz.´

The dog looked at the Viscount and barked.

´Half a minute ago,´ the nobleman admitted, ´I thought that _Ernie_ was a beagle.´

´If he _is_, he hides it well.´

The Viscount laughed aloud. He walked toward the animal and held out his hands for the dog to smell.

´I like him,´ the nobleman said.

´It seems the feeling is mutual,´ the Queen remarked.

With the Viscount grinning at the dog and the Kuvasz wagging his tail, it was a fair conclusion.

´My huntsman informed me that a Kuvasz needs long daily walks,´ the Queen told him, ´which is why I thought _you_ might make him a new Master.´

OoOoOoO

When her huntsman had told her about _a lively dog_, the Queen instantly had the Viscount in mind. She hadn't yet _seen_ the animal then, nor did she know its breed. With Ernie weighing 50 kilos, he seemed made for the robust Viscount, but the Queen was too much a lady to mention _that_ when she talked about her plan with her friend Joseph.

Joe, having been told about the huntsman's daughter's fears, pictured the dog to be a chihuahua (who could easily jump into the baby's cradle and bite it).

Sometimes you expect someone to respond in a certain way and you anticipate on that. It shows that you pay attention and that you think in the same way as your companion. Our Joe expected to see a mischievous look in Clarisse's eyes and he smirked invitingly. His eyes danced for he pictured the dog to come with a pink leash. And a tiny matching coat.

When she – copying his smile - asked him what was so amusing, Joe's expression changed.

´A chihuahua...´ he started, raising his eyebrows to finish the line.

´A chihuahua?´

Joe explained his baby-cradle-dog reasoning.

´A chihuahua may have four legs and a tail, I'd sooner call it a genetically manipulated rat than a dog,´ Clarisse replied.

Joe bent toward the coffee table to pick up his friend's tea and his own cappuccino.

´Here you are.´

´Thank you. Could you really imagine me to hand a pet like that to the _Viscount_ of all people?´

Imagining the scene was no problem at all for Joe, but he _knew_ that his beloved would never do such a wicked thing.

´No Clarisse, a chihuahua would not do. Is it a dachshund?´

She eyed him, and he looked at her so earnestly that she just _had_ to conclude that he was joking.

´Oh tosh!´

OoOoOoO

Arthur Mabrey turned to face his Queen.

´Thank you for thinking of me. I know that...´

The Queen shook her head as to stop him from continuing, but the Viscount didn't want to let the opportunity pass.

´In the past,´ he continued, ´I have not acted the gentleman in my dealings with you. And since realising that, I -´

The Queen gestured the dog to come to her. Balthazar, who loved a cuddle, immediately walked toward her.

´I very much regret it. I wish I could start afresh...´

Her Majesty eyed the Viscount. Balthazar's tail hit the floor.

Arthur Mabrey's Adam's apple refused to lie back.

This was not the same man the Queen had got to know over the years. She'd seen him in his true colours... Or perhaps his new colours. No matter: she had a feeling they were lasting.

´You have already done so Viscount,´ she said.

OoOoOoO

On their way back to the Castle, the Viscount felt as if he were floating. Balthazar, walking on the lead the huntsman had provided, seemed the only thing that kept him grounded.

The dog unknowingly got a hard job once his new Master realised that _he too_ had a wedding to attend.

It didn't take long before Arthur Mabrey knew for sure that both the Queen and he would be guests at the wedding of Lord Jalva's heir.

The Viscount, who'd twice met the bridegroom, had thought him to be a spoiled brat. He believed every kind word the Queen had to say about the young man though: he'd been mistaken before, hadn't he?

He cleared his throat.

´Would it be possible to _cash_ my rain-check at the wedding ball ma'am?´

The Queen lightly replied that with only two dances taken (tradition allowed both Lord Jalva and the bridegroom to dance with their liege) there seemed to be ample opportunity to do so.

Now, _rain-check_ is not a word that is used every day. It's not strange that the Queen immediately understood what the Viscount was referring to, especially not since he'd used the word _ball_ in the same line. Still, she was aware that she hadn't had to think twice. More over, she wondered whether Arthur Mabrey would be a good dancer.

OoOoOoO

After one of Lord Martin's little schemes within the Conservative party had been countered by Viscount Mabrey, the former's wife decided to take action.

During the opening of a gallery exhibition, Lady Martin paid Miss Penworthy a compliment on her _remarkable_ necklace. From jewellery to clothes to spring to love: it didn't take more than a minute. When the women parted the journalist was excited and the lady content.

The next day Miss Penworthy's gossip page in Genovian Daily informed the country that Viscount Mabrey was a man in love. The article was illustrated by flattering _before/after_ pictures: not only _had_ the Cupid struck nobleman lost a lot of weight, the _after_ picture showed him with his dog and nothing is as slimming as a Kuvasz.

The article provided entertainment throughout the Kingdom, not excluding the Castle:

´You know,´ Mrs Danieli commented Elsie's writings, ´you'd almost say the little snail believes him to be in love with _her_.´

Viscountess Margoli snorted with contempt.

´Arthur Mabrey will sooner join the foreign legion than marry that nobody.´

The cook quoted from the article: ´The Viscount's acquaintance noticed that he became milder.´

´That's true,´ the Viscountess heard herself say.

´Not that _I_ talked to that gossip,´ she quickly added, ´but I met him the other day and he was ever so charming.´

´He's a true gentleman,´ the housekeeper remarked.

´The woman he's in love with is beautiful, intelligent and graceful,´ the cook read.

´Can't imagine such a woman to be in love with _him_,´ kitchen maid Isabel whispered to her colleague Anna.

The Viscountess had excellent hearing. She commented Isabel's remark by telling the cook and the housekeeper that an _experienced_ woman _would_ enjoy the attentions of a man of the Viscount's stature.

Anna turned red with repressed laughter.

The cook was prevented from responding for she had to pick up the phone.

After the connection was broken she walked to the refrigerator and got out some eggs.

´The princes would like to have a couple of omelets,´ she told her colleagues.

´Their Royal Highnesses being at home surely makes Her Majesty happy,´ the housekeeper remarked. ´She's wearing a shawl in the softest shade of pink today.´

´She does? And you tell me _now_?´ the cook exclaimed.

´Prince Philippe must have told her to brighten up. If there's _anyone_ who can make the Queen laugh it's him.´


	16. Tongue tied

Chapter 16 - Tongue-tied

The Queen had seized whatever opportunity she'd had to watch Joseph interact with female members of her staff. She'd found that quite a lot of maids, the housekeeper and even her first dress maid responded to Joseph's presence. The maids would get a dreamy look in their eyes, the housekeeper would smooth her skirt, the first dress maid would straighten up.

But why would Joseph hesitate to reveal his feelings when he was met with inviting smiles and becoming blushes?

No... Either the woman of his dreams was someone whose behaviour _wasn't_ encouraging Joseph _or_ she hadn't yet seen Joseph and his love together (maybe she wasn't a colleague after all?) _or_ he wasn't pursuing his love because he was afraid that _she_ would not approve of him having a relationship.

OoOoOoO

´Please join me in the back-seat Joseph,´ the Queen requested as she seated herself in her limousine.

While walking around the car, Joe wondered whether she'd wanted to talk about his altered behaviour: he had been careful _not_ to show any warmth toward his liege when prince Philippe had been around. Perhaps she hadn't even noticed it though... What was he to do? Joe had the itching feeling that he didn't have a lot of time to transform from being her friend to start flirting with her. When Joe got in the car, the privacy screen was making its way up.

´There are no traffic jams. We will arrive at the shipyard in half an hour ma'am.´

´With the screen up, don't you think I can transform into Clarisse?´

He smiled his agreement and glanced at the bag with paperwork in between them.

´I brought it for the way back.´

´You work too hard.´

´Look who's talking.´

Joe shook his head.

´I'm glad you at least allowed yourself time with your sons,´ he remarked.

´Have I neglected _you_ Joseph?´

His surprised expression proved that he didn't feel that way and he hasted to tell her so. After the two of them had settled that subject between them, they chatted pleasantly. Clarisse asked Joseph about his family reunion in April. He said he looked forward to it but he ended his line by looking at the ceiling. Clarisse smiled, both because of Joseph's half in jest half serious _desperate_ expression and because of the opportunity that presented itself.

´Your very _Spanish_ relatives will ask you again whether you _still_ haven't found the right woman?´

Joe nodded.

´And they will tell you that it is not too late to start a family and all that?´

Joseph having a relationship was _one_ thing, but Clarisse had the feeling that Joseph having a young family would force him to choose between his job and his responsibilities as a husband and father.

´What is it Clarisse?´

´Oh, men can have a family when they're in their sixties or seventies and even later on. Being a woman, it doesn't seem fair to me,´ she explained with a smile.

Joe tried to think of a reply.

´But Joseph, should _you_ start a family, I'd be happy for you. I mean after all, you're only in your fifties,´ she lightly said.

´I don't _want_ to start a family of my own,´ Joe replied.

´You can't tell. What if you fall in love with a woman who wants to have children?´

At _fall in love_, Joe recognised a chance to speak his mind or at least start flirting. But by the time Clarisse finished her line, Joe spotted a big dog in a field.

´I won't,´ he replied.

The harshness in his voice made Clarisse feel uneasy but she didn't plan to let go of the subject: she needed her friend to know that she wouldn't step between him and his happiness.

´I think you would be a wonderful father.´

Joe heard the sincerity in her voice. He swallowed hard. He wanted to say something kind. Something to make her understand...

Have _you, _dear reader, never given someone a reply that came out all wrong? And yet, one word followed the other... as in:

´I _don't want_ _children_.´

Silence.

Clarisse studied Joseph's profile.

´Is fatherhood a sensitive subject?´ she softly said.

´No it _isn't_,´ Joe said with clenched jaws.

´If you say so.´

She took a folder from her bag and opened it.

Joe tried to figure out what had gone wrong. He was unaware that his fists were clenched as he concluded that it was all the fault of that blasted dog.

´Seriously Joseph! What is wrong?´

Joe, surprised at his friend's exclamation, faced her.

She sighed.

´The Archbishop told me that you are in love with a colleague.´

Joe's expression proved to Clarisse that Michael had been right indeed. She quickly continued.

´He _also_ revealed that you haven't told her yet and now _I_´m afraid that you keep your feelings a secret because _you_ think _I_ wouldn't approve of you having a relationship with a colleague. Which is _not _true. You are my _friend_, I want you to be happy!´

Joe was lost for an answer.

´Oh Joseph please don't tell me you thought I would -´

Joe silenced her by pressing her hand. He smiled at her warmly, while shaking his head.

It made her sigh with relief.

´_So_,´ she said with a smile, ´who _is_ she?´

Joe didn't like Clarisse's enthusiasm for the subject.

´I've reduced the list of colleagues to two,´ she said when Joseph remained silent.

Joe let go of her hand and cleared his throat.

´You have?´

´Yes. I believe it has to be either Charlotte or Colonel Frerer.´

´They are both much _younger_ than I am!´ Joe objected in reply to Clarisse's encouraging expression.

Clarisse believed he wanted to be reassured that age didn't matter and she said what was appropriate.

Joe for some reason recalled that Arthur Mabrey was nine years younger than his secret love.

Clarisse, who really wanted to know who Joseph's ignorant beloved was, suggested that it had to be the Colonel, for she couldn't picture Charlotte _not_ to want a family some day.

Joe heard a message via his ear piece and though it was not meant for him, he replied it still. His men got a little nervous: their boss's intervention wasn't worth the trouble. When Joe broke the connection, his friend was eyeing him knowingly.

´You don't want to talk about her, do you Joseph?´

He was about to reply when she shrugged and said that it was his right to keep the identity of his beloved a secret. She kindly added that he _shouldn't_ be modest; that he should _address_ his colleague.

This is _The Moment_, wouldn't you agree? _The_ Moment for Joe to tell Clarisse that _she_ alone brightened his days and haunted his nights. Well, he might better not mention the latter just now. But you'll get the point: tell her Joe! Tell her you fool!

The limousines were slowing down and Joe instinctively looked outside to see what the reason could be and to make sure there was no danger.

´Long live the Queen!´

The street leading to the shipyard was crowded with people. The Queen waved at them.

´When you're ready to talk about it, I'll be there for you Joseph,´ she said, casting him a glance before focusing on her subjects again.

Joe opened his mouth, but the Queen was at work and his communication device started beeping. The Moment had sneaked off.

OoOoOoO

Viscount Mabrey was one of the MPs who attended the baptism of _Her Majesty's Emile Artois. _He hadn't seen the Queen for several days and he drank in her appearance.

´Is _she_ the one Mabrey?´ MP Mathieu whispered, continuing: ´Personally I wouldn't call the lady beautiful,´ (Arthur's eyes became slices) ´and her dress reminds me of a tent, but love's blind right?´

´Viscountess Margoli is a _charming_ woman,´ Mabrey replied evenly, ´And I think that colour becomes her.´

Arthur's friends, foes and acquaintance had so far coupled him to – among others- a Genovian singer, Lady Martin (oh irony), a famous English actress who owned property in Pyrus, the twenty-seven year old niece of a Spanish nobleman, Lord Jalva's daughter, a wealthy society widow and a soap-star. Arthur hadn't even m_et _most of these women.

Gervais Santerre had assured his friend that he nor his wife had anything to do with Elsie's revelation. Still, Arthur had a fairly good idea who the gossip's source was.

´But I believe that Viv- Lady Martin _would_ make more of that gown...´ Mabrey mused.

Our Arthur is quite the actor and Mathieu had no reason to think that a slip of the tongue is not always what it seems. Especially not since Mabrey, obviously eager for another subject, gestured toward the talkative officers who were fighting for the Queen's attention: ´They're probably begging her for more toys.´

´Good luck to them!´ socialist Mathieu replied.

After the champagne had been spilt, the captain who would take _Emile Artois_ on her maiden trip escorted Her Majesty to the submarine's entrance. The Queen's Head of Security entered the ship first.

The Queen handed the captain the flowers that had been given to her, saying something that made him smile from ear to ear and effortlessly descended the ladder into the submarine.

´Ah!´ Mathieu discovered: ´That's why she's wearing pants!´

Mabrey sighed.

´Your green lady decides to stay outside. Smart girl,´ Mathieu commented the view.

Drinks and snacks awaited the guests and Mathieu voiced that he was hungry indeed, adding: ´The food smells _delicious_.´

He wasn't surprised when Mabrey, after shaking his head in regret, opted for lining up to enter the submarine. Mathieu grinned when the Queen's lady-in-waiting sought the Viscount's company and he smirked when a photographer made a picture of the noble pair.

Arthur didn't mind the photo being taken: let the world believe that he was in love with Caroline Margoli. At Mathieu's _Is she the one?_ his heart had skipped a beat. He'd realised that the identity of his love should remain a secret: he would never want her to be the object of suspicion.

When the Viscountess said how sorry she was that _that dreadful woman_ had told the world that he was (she lowered her voice to a whisper) _in love, _Arthur shrugged and planned to introduce the subject of women aboard submarines. He figured the Viscountess might inform Her Majesty about his modern ideas on that topic. (Yes: Cupid is a force to be reckoned with.)

The Viscountess cared not for submarines. ´How dare that nobody suggest that you could have fallen for a _singer!_´

Arthur hoped that his Queen did not suspect him to be a womaniser and a moment later on his longing heart made him think that the Viscountess might speak with _her_ voice. _Clarisse's_ voice. Arthur's vivid dreams flashed by: the two of them talking about music and plays or taking Balthazar for a walk, her hand resting on his fore-arm. Her smile, her rich laughter. What if she believed the gossip and wondered who his love was, because she was... _No idiot!_ he scolded himself: _Why would she be jealous? _At day-time we aren't even on familiar terms with each other...

Had she _not_ been the Queen, he would have wooed her already and taken her to Tuscany, getting them rooms (!) in small hotel... with a wishing well.

Not being able _not_ to talk about his love now, Arthur Mabrey mentioned that Her Majesty must have baptised quite a lot of ships over the years.

´I believe this submarine was number eighteen Viscount,´ he heard a voice like honey say.

´Your Majesty!´ the two nobles exclaimed.

The Viscountess blushed (which didn't make for a good combination with her dress) while Mabrey inclined his head. He'd relished the sharp t at the end of Viscount. How he longed to hear her sigh his name...

He swallowed.

´Did you like the...´ Arthur gestured toward the ship.

The Queen's eyes moved from the MP to her lady-in-waiting and back again.

´Yes I did Viscount. The interior is a little too practical for my liking -´

She smiled at the captain (who would need a direct order ere he'd leave his Queen) before looking at Balthazar's Master again: ´but I have been told that it fits its purpose perfectly. I would recommend you to have a look but I see that you already plan to do so.´

Arthur nodded. The light played with the blue glass flowers on the Queen's necklace.

´Good day Viscount.´

Her Majesty moved on with the Viscountess, the captain and several others following in her trail.

Even though he knew that there was nothing significant he could have said in these public surroundings, Arthur Mabrey felt that he had let an opportunity slip away.

Some time later on he watched the Queen's departure. Her Head of Security held the limousine's door for her and she smiled at him.

Arthur's mind drifted back to his sweet imprisonment in the elevator. He'd said something unkind about Romero and when she'd wittily asked him whether _he_ was applying for the function of bodyguard, his response had been _I have better things to do_.

Romero was a lucky bastard to spend so much time with her. Had _he_ come under her spell too?

A man in love _can't_ imagine another man _not_ to be enchanted by his beloved, so I need not tell you what Arthur concluded. He had the happy thought that Romero wasn't a suitable companion for a Queen. And the Head of Security certainly wouldn't be able to waltz her at the Jalva wedding.

A song settled itself in Arthur's head: music is the way to romance, so if I hold you in my arms I won't dance.


	17. Double Dutch

Chapter 17 – Double Dutch

On the day of the Jalva wedding Joe had gotten up very early, hoping to find an answer to the question _How now? _in the gym.

After the gym he made it for the kitchen where he -to his surprise- met a yawning cook.

Having someone to talk to made Mrs Danieli more active, and that someone being the Head of Security made her smile.

´That must be a special soup,´ Joe said gesturing at the huge pan on the gas-cooker.

As the cook informed him that she was making a stock for the favourite soup of the Queen of the Netherlands who would be visiting the next day, Joe's eye fell on an opened gossip magazine on the table. It made a nice tableau with a beaker of coffee and a half finished scone.

´One has to do _something_ while waiting,´ Mrs Danieli excused her choice of reading.

She placed the lid on the pan and walked back to the table to find Mr Romero bewitched by the same article _she_ had been reading.

Joe, forgetting that he was hungry, gestured toward a photo. The subscript read: Is the daughter of Lord Jalva the woman of Viscount Mabrey's dreams?

´Since when are people talking about Mabrey being in love?´ Joe grinned.

´For some days already. You haven't heard? It's the talk of town.´

In a whisper that naturally accompanies a gossip, even in a silent kitchen, the cook continued: ´Viscountess Margoli too made it to the list of would be beloveds.´

As the cook took another bite of her scone, Joe studied Lady Julienne's picture. Her chin was weak and her eyes were dull, but her hair came straight from a shampoo commercial, her skin was fair and with the added help of her blue blood she passed for a pretty young woman.

´I must say and I don't want to gossip, oh, would you like me to make you a sandwich? You like omelets don't you? I'll make you one.´

The cook walked to the refrigerator.

´The Viscount and the Viscountess were chatting with each other while Her Majesty inspected the new submarine,´ Joe eagerly recalled.

Mrs Danieli's tongue had managed to remove a crumb from behind a back-tooth and was now put to use to ruin Joe's good mood.

´I frankly doubt that the Viscountess is the one. She's intelligent for sure, but as to being beautiful and graceful...´

The cook sighed, while her swift hands buttered a sandwich.

´That's what the Viscount said his love was you know. Intelligent, beautiful and graceful.´

Looking behind her she misunderstood Mr Romero's expression.

´Well, he didn't tell _me_ of course,´ she clarified, ´but the information reached that Penworthy woman. Now, we're _not_ going to gossip, but really...´

Mrs Danieli shook her head.

´_She_ seems quite charmed by him though,´ she continued while whirling some eggs in a frying-pan, ´and I can't blame her. Still, Lady Julienne has the best hand if you ask _me_. She's younger than the Viscountess for one thing and her father's a Conservative, just like the Viscount.´

The cook expected that at the Jalva wedding it would become clear _who_ the nobleman's beloved was.

´I trust that you yourself will guard Her Majesty at the wedding?´

Joe curtly confirmed it.

´It will not be very demanding I'm sure? I mean, with all these fine ladies and gentlemen attending and everyone will be merry of course. So if you have time, you know, just when you happen to notice the Viscount and his Lady, well, I just wonder how _you_ feel about the pair of them.´

OoOoOoO

Viscount Mabrey was changing for the wedding and his fine bass could be heard all the way in the kitchen. The butler had left the door open to listen to it.

He as well as the cook took for granted that their employer was in love.

Over the years they'd gotten used to occasional growling and they praised the mysterious lady who had polished the Viscount into his new self.

´Do you think it's Lord Jalva's daughter?´

´For master Nicolas's sake I hope not,´ the cook replied, ´She's only thirty years old ain't she? Maybe it's that actrice.´

The actress was forty-nine and therefore past endangering Nicolas's prospects. The butler cared not for that: ´He _won't_ marry a commoner.´

´I'm not saying he'll _wed_ her,´ the cook grinned.

´We'll have to wait and see,´ the butler concluded and he closed his eyes to enjoy the Viscount's singing.

OoOoOoO

Thanks to the presence of Her Majesty the Jalva wedding had made it to the front page of several newspapers. The newly-weds were honoured even more: two _lifestyle_ pages in Genovian Daily were filled with pictures of their guests arriving at the Cathedral.

The Queen's maids gathered around a table where the newspapers were spread out.

´It is _so_ romantic!´ Isabel exclaimed: ´Guests in evening clothes make a wedding so _grand_!´

´Yeah,´ Anna dreamt, ´It's like the Oscars.´

The women commented the bride's dress, which took some time, for the bride hadn't been able to make up her mind and her dress had enough lace, pearls, satin ribbons and embroidery to beautify _three_ gowns.

Headed by Her Majesty's first dress maid the dresses of the bridesmaids and the guests were also discussed. The cook showed a special interest for the dress of the bridegroom's sister.

After a while every dress that had been spotted on the red carpet outside the Cathedral had been discussed, save _one_.

´What did _you_ think of Her Majesty's gown, Miss Kutaway?´ the first dress maid casually asked the passing secretary.

´It was just _perfect_ Miss Breton.´

The previous day Charlotte had been waiting in the main hall to see her employer off and when the Queen had come floating down the stairs, Charlotte had felt clumsy and girlish and very proud of Her Majesty's appearance.

´She looked _beautiful_,´ she added before sitting down for breakfast.

´You'd not say she's fifty-nine,´ the cook beamed.

´Absolutely not!´ Miss Breton said with authority.

The kitchen maids tilted their heads the better to criticize the radiant Queen in glorious purple.

They sighed and privately admitted that yes, her shape was great and yes, her bosom was ... well you know, and yes, she was elegant and every inch the Queen. And _they_ were privileged to work for her!

A chorus of praises filled the kitchen.

More people entered to have breakfast and Mrs Danieli removed the papers and told her staff to get to work.

The Head of Security sat down next to Miss Kutaway.

The cook stayed near them, busying herself by filling a sugar bowl.

´What did _you_ think of the wedding Joe?´

Joe good humouredly answered Charlotte's question as well as the various inquiries that followed.

He had found out that sometimes something you dread turns out _just_ fine.

OoOoOoO

The Queen's post-party mood disappeared the moment her friend stepped out of her car. She knew that B's visit would _not_ leave her oddly disappointed.

She longed for her friends Beatrix and Joseph to meet. In her correspondence with B Joseph had made his appearance and Clarisse had told Joseph that her royal friend was intelligent, warm and kind.

Though her friends were more than willing to like each other (not only to please their mutual friend but also on account of what they already knew about the other), Clarisse was worried that Joseph might get into _oyster mode_ and that Beatrix would be in a teasing mood.

Seeing Joseph stand in her suite with his hands behind his back, while Beatrix silently enjoyed the view of the gardens, a nervous Clarisse suggested to play a game of Scrabble.

´You _really_ want to two of us to get to know each other don't you?´ Beatrix said, turning around, ´You are worse than the Inquisition, what say you Mr Romero?´

´At least it is not rummikub ma'am.´

´You make me shiver on this warm day. If Scrabble is the Inquisition, rummikub is Purgatory.´

´I know an Archbishop who plays it,´ Joe replied, with a sparkle in his eyes.

´A sinner who is preparing himself for the fires no doubt.´

Clarisse smiled happily.

Shortly after they'd started to play, Queen Beatrix received a call from her Prime Minister. She excused herself and took a seat on a sofa to be consulted, encourage and warn.

Clarisse and Joseph continued to Scrabble. At one point the former noted down 'ochre' and Joe, who challenged her that the word didn't exist, lost his turn after checking the dictionary. His fair adversary picked up new tiles and added 'omet' to the challenged c on the board.

Joe glanced at the Dutch Queen who had produced a small moleskine and a pen.

Figuring it would take a while before she would join them, Joe checked the tiles on his rack again.

´Urmy? That's not a word Joseph.´

´Just wait and see,´ Joe replied.

Clarisse raised her eyebrows and turned over the pages of a dictionary.

´You'll see indeed,´ she said while turning the book to show her friend: ´from urine to urn, there is no such thing as -´

She checked the board and shook her head.

´That is _not_ a word Joseph. You could have made _vole_ or _ruler_.´

Joe cleared his throat: ´Or lover.´

´Yes, that too. So why urmy? That would have made for _rum_ in you next turn.´

´You don't get many points for rum,´ Joe said, looking at his Queen of Hearts intently.

She laughed: ´If _you_ think you can get points for urmylove, you are mistaken.´

Clarisse looked behind her to check on her friend. Joe bit his lip.

Beatrix sensed that it was time to get involved again.

Her Prime Minister had broken the connection over a minute ago and with no one talking straight into her ear she was sure she'd been correct about thinking that Clarisse's balding friend had lowered his voice.

A master at improvising, Beatrix had written down the word 'hottentottententen tentoonstelling' several times, while nodding occasionally and saying things as: 'inderdaad'.

These simple precautions had allowed her to observe the Scrabbling pair without raising any suspicion.

She _ended_ her conversation and then agreed with Oxford and Clarisse that Joseph's word didn't exist, not even in her native tongue.

´Why don't we move to the terrace and have a drink?´ Queen Beatrix suggested.

...

...

Author's note: 'hottentottententen tentoonstelling' is in fact a word. It means 'exhibition of tents used by Hottentots' (there: you can't claim it's double Dutch any more). If you think that exhibitions of that kind are common in the Netherlands, I'll have to disappoint you. The Dutch created the word for they like its sound. Just try it again, and you'll see what I mean. The word ought to be written without a space and at first I'd done so but it caused the word to mysteriously disappear. After some trying it proved that cutting it in two at least prevented something somewhere to cut it altogether.

More Dutch: 'inderdaad' means 'indeed'.


	18. Talking like a Dutch uncle

Author's note: the action in this chapter immediately follows what happened in the previous chapter.

Chapter 18 - Talking like a Dutch uncle

Beatrix's suggestion to move outside was supported by Joe. Clarisse, confident that her friends liked each other, didn't object.

After the three of them had seated themselves, with drinks and snacks, Beatrix asked how the Jalva wedding had been. She was surprised when _Joseph_ answered her question.

Clarisse drank her soda, while her friend made an effort to describe the bride's dress.

(I agree with you: though smart women may very well be interested in fashion, Joe _could_ have honoured the Queen's intelligence by commenting... oh, let's say Lord Jalva's speech. Still, we all know Joe isn't a sexist. He merely wanted to show his friend how comfortable he felt around her friend. Besides, talking kept him from scolding himself.)

Beatrix's eyes twinkled when she remarked: ´A dress like that must have restricted the bride's movements on the dance floor.´

Clarisse understood what her friend meant to say (_meringue_) and by way of winking she raised an eyebrow at her, which went unnoticed by Joseph.

´She _didn't_ dance as gracefully as Clarisse did,´ Joe said.

It was the first time he used his Queen's name in her friend's presence. The ladies noticed it, just as they noticed the movement of his Adam's apple.

´Few women do C,´ Beatrix raised her glass at her friend.

´The musicians were _very_ good,´ Clarisse replied.

´Yes they were,´ Joe confirmed. He was struck by the idea that notes might triumph where words had failed.

Clarisse introduced another subject and the three of them chatted for a while until Joe charmingly excused himself: he had to go back to work. He _had_ planned not to stay for the entire evening (knowing that the ladies didn't see each other often), and newly added to his intention was his eagerness to practice on his guitar.

´I really like him,´ Beatrix stated after the door had fallen close behind Joseph.

´I only _have_ nice friends,´ Clarisse returned with a smile.

During dinner, when it had been just the two of them, they had talked about their families. With Joseph gone, the Queens chatted about their colleagues. They also discussed Rupert's biography (which wasn't half as bad as Clarisse had feared it would be).

When Clarisse walked inside to get them another drink, her friend followed her.

Beatrix made a show of studying the Scrabble board.

´You know,´ she said, ´Joseph might have wanted to tell you something.´

Walking toward her, Clarisse raised her eyebrows.

Beatrix pointed at 'urmylove'. She tapped under 'my' and then moved her finger from l to o to v to e and back to m before tapping under 'ur'. She looked at her friend to see whether she'd have to repeat her action. She didn't:

´Oh! UR is his love!´

Beatrix, accepting the glass Clarisse offered her, suppressed a sigh.

´So it's not the Colonel after all, nor Charlotte...´ Clarisse realised.

Beatrix had learned about Joseph being in love from her friend's letters.

´Why are you so eager to learn who Joseph's beloved is?´

´He's my friend and I have a curious nature.´

With a laugh Clarisse added: ´Remember when you'd fallen in love with Ernst?´

Beatrix smiled fondly: C had known about that before her family had.

´UR, UR,´ Clarisse puzzled, ´I doubt there's someone with those initials... Ah! There's an Ursula working at the treasury.´

´Yes, _that_ will bring her in close contact with Joseph...´

´Well,´ Clarisse shrugged, ´otherwise it has to be stable-boy Uberto Ruiz and I doubt -´

´C,´ Beatrix interrupted her friend, ´I think he meant to say _you are_.´

´You are what?´

´Read woman!´

Clarisse did as she was bidden.

´_No!_ No B, you must be mistaken!´

Silence.

Beatrix sat down and Clarisse followed her example.

´_Me?_ But I'm not his colleague am I?´

´He would have given it away had he told the Archbishop that he was in love with _a Queen_, wouldn't he?´

´But we are _friends_!´

The Queen of the Netherlands is stubborn and she finally made Clarisse agree that Joseph had been referring to her.

´But why didn't he _tell_ me?´

Beatrix raised her eyebrows.

´He would have heard _No!_´ Clarisse realised. She rested her chin in her hand.

´What will you do C?´

´Why should I _act_?´

´_He_ made the first move...´

Clarisse put down her glass.

´If it hadn't been for you, I would never have translated UR into you are. What sort of language is that anyway? Surely it has nothing to do with English. Really, I doubt he wanted me to know. Honestly B, he might as well have said _ti amo_ to a Chinese.´

´You're babbling.´

Silence.

´I am, am I not?´

Clarisse gained a little time by picking up her glass.

´I realised that if Joseph was in love, or even start a family, he wouldn't be around all the time. He might even leave.´

She took a sip.

´You could still be friends,´ Beatrix pointed out, ´After all, how often do the two of _us_ meet?´

´I know that, but I'm _used_ to having Joseph nearby.´

A thought occurred to Clarisse: ´Promise me you won't tell him you told me.´

´Why not? Do you want him to declare himself _again_?´

´He is my _friend_! I don't want complica- Oh!´

´What is it?´

´I suggested which words he _might_ make with his letters, and he came up with _lover_!´

´I think Charles Deveraux can picture you having a lover. And so can _you_ C.´

Clarisse kept her expression blank.

But did she really expect to fool someone who'd known her since 1953? Besides, she blushed.

Beatrix smirked at her friend.

Clarisse shrugged and shook her head in sweet surrender. Her eyes started to sparkle and combined with her sensual smile she would have inspired Mr Deveraux to write a lengthy novel.

´I don't lie in bed with my hands above the blankets,´ she said, raising an eye-brow.

Beatrix laughed aloud and raised her glass. Her friend grinned.

´It _would_ be _nice_ to have a lover,´ Clarisse admitted, adding with a shrug: ´But it's too dangerous.´

´How convenient that Joseph lives in the Castle...´

´I will _not_ use Joseph just to satisfy my needs.´

Clarisse took a sip.

Beatrix didn't voice that Joseph probably wouldn't mind such an arrangement.

´Joseph deserves to be loved,´ Clarisse insisted, quickly adding: ´by someone with whom he can built a _future_.´

´UR what he wants in his future. He'll understand that he will have to love you in secret and I think that -´

´Joseph is with me all the time,´ Clarisse interrupted, ´Small wonder that he believes he feels more for me than friendship. He barely sees other women does he?´

´That man _knows_ how he feels. And you've written me about your maids eyeing him the way they do. He notices that. Joseph meets _plenty_ of other women.´

Clarisse continued to play advocate of the devil.

´Being my bodyguard adds some... artificial romance.´

´Valentine's day is artificial, but _no one cares_.´

´We are _friends!_ Why... He is complicating things!´

´He is a man in love. ´

´Why are you _defending_ him?´

´I am the champion of your happiness,´ Beatrix declared with a wink.

´I can take care of my own happiness.´

´Can you? You will always let your country come first.´

´Look who's talking!´

Clarisse rose and walked toward a window.

Behind her Beatrix calmly said: ´I know I'm not the best person to lecture you on the subject of putting duty aside, but when it came to Ernst, I _never_ yielded.´

´Aren't you forgetting something?´ Clarisse said as she closed a French window.

Not waiting for a reply she added: ´_You_ were head over heels in love with Ernst. Just as _he_ was in love with _you_. You make it seem as if I should oblige Joseph. And why? Because _no one else_ is interested?´

Beatrix tilted her head.

Another window was closed, a little more rudely than it deserved.

´He is my _friend_. Period. _If_ I should fall in love, it will be my _own_ decision. Not one initiated because someone happens to love me.´

Clarisse tucked up the sleeves of her blouse.

´Think about Beatrice and Benedick,´ Beatrix suggested.

Clarisse looked up: ´Joseph and I have never _dis_liked each other! Besides, there's no Don Pedro here. And should you be referring to Arthur Mabrey: his middle name is _not_ Benedick.´

Beatrix saw her friend make a neat pile of some books.

In a perfectly casual tone that made Clarisse relax somewhat, Beatrix said: ´Was he nasty when he danced with you?´

Clarisse liked the phrasing.

´He wasn't,´ she replied.

She re-arranged a bouquet in a crystal vase.

Beatrix suggested to make a round in the gardens. If there was _anything_ that could calm her friend, it was the sight and scent of her flowers and trees.

OoOoOoO

The gardens looked beautiful at sunset.

The warm wind softly played with the leaves and with the Queens' skirts.

Beatrix broke their comfortable silence: ´What I meant to say is that knowing that someone loves you can be an aphrodisiac.´

Clarisse linked her arm in hers.

´True. But I'd better not think about that.´

´As long as you don't forbid yourself to fantasize.´

OoOoOoO

In the privacy of her suite Queen Beatrix thought things over.

_He's my friend and I have a curious nature._

Was that all there was to it? Had Clarisse's remark _Remember when you'd fallen in love with Ernst _been an innocent reminder, proving that when it came to her friends she _was_ curious or had it been a distraction?

From the way Clarisse had acted and from what she had revealed, Beatrix concluded that she was not unwilling to be loved, nor to fall in love.

From what Beatrix knew about her dear friend, Clarisse would never even admit to _herself_ that her feelings surpassed friendship unless the object of her affection had told her in plain English that _he_ was in love with _her_.

The Queen of the Netherlands picked up a pen and – with a free conscience- wrote down a few words.

_That's one_, Beatrix thought. _Now what about the good Viscount?_


	19. Dutch courage

Chapter 19 – Dutch courage

Balthazar got a pet on the head when his Master let him into the former stables that had become the Kuvasz's home. Arthur Hadrian Mabrey filled a water bowl and the dog barked, hoping his alpha would finally reply.

The attempt was in vain.

Arthur returned to the mansion. He tried to think of politics but his thoughts drifted to _her_. He made it for his study where he poured himself a glass of scotch. Knocking it back he poured himself another one.

When he'd first seen her at the wedding he'd wished he were an artist. As a painter he would capture her complexion and the bewitching sparkle in her eyes and as a sculptor he would immortalize her grace and her perfectly balanced voluptuousness.

Arthur was convinced that he hadn't looked at her often, but I can tell you that he'd always positioned himself in such a way that he could spot his beloved.

He'd been ready to defend the colour of her dress and he'd known what to talk about during their dance.

The Queen's appearance had not needed any defence: she was eyed with admiration. The ladies had declared that Her Majesty looked _lovely_ and the gentlemen had wisely nodded their agreement.

Arthur took a swallow of his scotch.

He inclined his head and smiled.

´Your Majesty, please allow me the honour.´

He extended his hand, then stepped forward and danced.

Just when he was about to ask his partner whether she liked Mel Tormé, he saw himself in a window's reflection. His arms fell down.

OoOoOoO

When her friend had written her about Viscount Mabrey's behaviour in the London elevator and later on in a gallery, the Queen of the Netherlands had suspected him of foul play. That was months ago though: on her arrival in Pyrus she'd been sure that Viscount Mabrey was partial to his Queen. At the Castle she'd read an article confirming her idea. It had made her smile: Clarisse _deserved_ to be loved and when her intelligence, beauty and grace had captured Arthur Mabrey, her triumph (though un-sought) was complete.

Arthur Mabrey had proven that he could influence his Queen: had she not trusted him she wouldn't have added colour to her wardrobe. Since the London elevator Mabrey had occasionally appeared in Clarisse's letters and always in a positive way. The fact that Clarisse had mentioned the rain-check to be _cashed_ at the Jalva wedding had made Beatrix think that she was far from reluctant to dance with the nobleman.

Had her friend been unwilling to agree that Joseph loved her because she hoped Arthur had feelings for her?

The Queen inhaled the scent of fresh-cut grass (she was strolling in the gardens) and sighed: considering the fact that she'd suspected another man to step forward as Clarisse's lover, acting as an intermediary between Clarisse and Joseph wasn't the wisest thing she'd ever done.

But then: Joseph had looked at her friend so tenderly. She'd never seen _Rupert_ look at her that way and it had made her forget to think how Arthur might eye his Queen.

Joseph's attempt at Scrabble had been sweet, shy, poetic. The man loved Clarisse. True, he was an employee, he neither had blue blood nor an impressive estate, but he was an intelligent, good man. And he had a heart that beat for her friend. Still, it had not been for _his_ sake that she'd told Clarisse about Joseph's message and sent _him_ a note _Simon says translate UR for her_.

Had Clarisse had been unwilling to agree that Joseph loved her because she felt more than friendship for him and was afraid to handle that?

After writing the note Beatrix had gotten doubts again. Joseph, Arthur. Arthur, Joseph...

Clarisse had barely spoken about the wedding she'd looked forward to. According to the papers it had been a wonderful event with a happy bride and groom and a radiant guest of honour. Clarisse had said that Mabrey hadn't been _nasty_. Had he not been _nice _either? C had not liked talking about it...

Beatrix sighed again. Her note _had_ found its way to Joseph and she didn't regret it, especially not after having read a morning paper. Poison Elsie had practically set a date for the Mabrey-Jalva wedding. According to her the Viscount and the lady had shared a romantic dance. The Queen of the Netherlands knew that sometimes gossips proved right. All might end well as far as her interference went...

She checked her watch. It was almost time for a late morning tea in Clarisse's office.

OoOoOoO

Queen Clarisse was sorry that she couldn't spend more time with her friend, but Queen Beatrix's stay (in between visits to Portugal and France) had been too unexpected to have her schedule cleared. After having received Genovians who'd served as flying doctors, the Queen seated herself behind her desk to do some urgent signing.

She took the top file from the pile on her desk. After opening it she stared at a blank sheet. She raised an eyebrow and turned it around. It read:

urmylove /З:mı│Λv/ _n_ Scrabble abbreviation: _you are my love_.

The handwriting was Joseph's.

Her heart skipped a beat. When waking up that morning she'd told herself that B had probably been wrong.

She opened the second file.

urmylove /З:mı│Λv/ _n_ Scrabble abbreviation: _you are my love_.

The third file:

urmylove /З:mı│Λv/ _n_ Scrabble abbreviation: _you are my love_.

She removed the sheets from all eight files and locked them away in a drawer.

She told herself that he'd been reckless and that it was a good thing B wasn't around to see her blush.

OoOoOoO

It was Monday and normally at this time Joe would be keeping an eye on the gardens.

Placing his declarations in the files on his beloved's desk had been more important than finding out whether a certain MP might be lurking behind the bushes. Not that Joe believed that the man would still hang around: it was beyond Joe why Mabrey had chosen Lady What's-her-name over Clarisse but _he_ wasn't going to complain about it.

He checked his watch: she'd have opened the first file now. He pictured her raising an eyebrow at finding a blank page. How would she respond? Joseph had thought of explaining _UR_ to her in person, but he didn't want to startle her. (Or so he told himself. I happen to know that he was also nervous of her reaction.)

Joe planned to drop by her office later on. He knew what to say to lighten the mood (if need be): _Have you found Oxford's supplementary sheet?_

He'd finally be able to woo her. Discreetly, respectfully, but woo her he would. Passionately, intensely. Exclusively.

Sweet lovely sexy luring Clarisse.

Looking outside Joe saw the invaluable Queen of the Netherlands strolling in the gardens.

OoOoOoO

´You know _very well_ that I have an appointment in a few minutes time,´ the Queen told her aid, referring to having tea with Queen Beatrix.

´Please Your Majesty,´ came a deep voice from outside the office (the door stood ajar): ´It will not take long.´

Charlotte hadn't told her Queen _who_ had requested to speak to her.

Surprise, relief and weariness washed over the Queen. Aware of Charlotte observing her she made a gesture with her hand. Her aid invited the visitor to enter.

The Queen greeted him with a nod and and told Charlotte to inform her once the Queen of the Netherlands arrived. Charlotte promised that she would and left.

´Thank you for seeing me ma'am. I didn't know you had an appointment -´

The Queen gestured toward a chair opposite her desk. The Viscount quickly sat down, feeling that her invitation was made reluctantly.

´Thank you.´

Our Arthur had rehearsed what he'd tell her over and over again, but face to face with her every word seemed inadequate. The fact that he knew he didn't have much time made him go to the heart of the matter.

´Ma'am, I looked forward to the Jalva wedding merely because I knew you would grant me a dance.´

Her Majesty picked up a pen and held the ends between her fingers.

´You may recall that I approached you...´

The Queen looked at him. Cool and guarded.

She recalled it very well. She'd been talking to Lord Jalva's ninety-five year old uncle when she'd seen Arthur Mabrey come near. It was obvious to her that he would ask her to dance with him. Jalva had gentlemanly continued to talk about keeping bees while the Viscount had walked the groom's sister to the dance floor. The Queen had heard whispering behind her and she'd hidden behind a regal mask. It had not gone unnoticed by her partner in conversation. He'd concluded that Her Majesty had enough of his buzzing and, gesturing toward his grand-niece, remarked that perhaps the gossips were right for once.

´Young Mabrey asking Julienne to dance with him surely means _something_,´ Jalva had mused.

Two persons remembering the same event will have different stories to tell. This is Arthur's point of view:

When he'd walked toward his Queen, he'd heard whispering. Why were his peers eyeing him? Why were they throwing each other meaningful glances? Could it be that they... Had his reputation of not being a fan of the Queen been shattered?

Arthur had dreamed about swaying the Queen on the ballroom floor and the thought of holding her aroused him. But what if the two of them were dancing and people would realise that Her Majesty was beautiful and graceful as well as intelligent? _Is she the one? _

He would neither let _her_ nor their new relationship be hurt by those vile gossips.

He'd quickly changed his direction. It brought him face to face with Lady Julienne, whom he hadn't noticed to be near. He'd asked _her_ to dance with him. It didn't take long before he'd realised that everyone had _expected_ him to invite the groom's sister: the whispering had increased and there were smiling faces all over the place. Well, not _all_ over.

´Perhaps you have read... I'm said to be hit by Cupid. By not dancing with you I wanted to protect you.´

The Queen rose and so did the Viscount. Her Majesty walked to a window.

´From the wrath of your lady love Viscount?´

´From gossip.´

The Queen opened a curtain that had been closed to keep the sun out. She turned around to study the Viscount.

Convinced that he spoke the truth, she relaxed.

´That was... _thoughtful_ of you.´

´Dancing with lord Jalva's daughter didn't mean anything. The gossips are wrong in thinking that she and I - ´

´Gossips are usually wrong.´

Arthur jumped at the opportunity.

´They wouldn't have been wrong if they'd concluded that I'm in love with _you_.´

Silence.

´For I am. I love you.´

Arthur wasn't disappointed when his love didn't reply. He understood: it must have come unexpected and it was likely that she didn't return his feelings. But _he_ had spoken his mind, perhaps that would change _hers_. He drank in her appearance. A becoming blush had settled itself on her sweet face, matching the delicate colour of the top part of her dress.

Agitated he walked toward her, kissed her hand and left.

The Queen just stood there. She was aware of the door falling close, of a bird whistling, of the sunlight sparkling on a wall, of footsteps in the corridor, but she couldn't say how she felt.

OoOoOoO

Not being able to wait any longer Joe had made it for his love's office. When he'd seen a maid carrying a tray walking ahead of him, he'd called after her, just before she rounded a corner. Had she already _entered_ the guarded corridor to the Queen's office, and had Joe _hurried_ toward her, he would have seen Viscount Mabrey enter the corridor toward the House of Parliament.

Standing before the door to the Queen's office, Joe inhaled deeply. He knocked but his mind was so occupied by rehearsing his line that he didn't register that his request to enter was not answered. He entered.

OoOoOoO

Joe found his beloved standing near a window. His entrance had startled her out of absent-mindedness.

´I ran into the maid,´ he said, glancing at her desk to see an opened file.

´Yes. I see. Could you put the tray on the coffee table please?´

Joe felt sick at heart.

The Queen seated herself on a chair. Instead of simply leaving the tray, Joe put the tea pot on the table, followed by the sugar bowl, the plate with biscuits and the plate with small muffins.

´Have you found the supplementary sheets?´ he asked, placing two delicate cups on the table.

She cleared her throat.

´I figured that you hadn't understood what UR meant,´ Joe quickly continued.

´No I hadn't...´

´You _said_ I should _address_ my love,´ Joseph replied, sitting down without being invited to do so.

His remark made her smile, nervously, but still.

´I'm your friend -,´ Joe said.

´Hence the zero points word?´ She bent over to the table, then realised that the comfort of tea had to wait for a while.

´I will _always_ remain your friend. But I can't _not_ love you.´

She looked at him.

Joseph expected her face to be blank, her Queenly mask in place, but she allowed him to see that his declaration moved her. It made him hope. He drank in her appearance. Was time standing still? He didn't want the moment to go. He rose, kissed her hand and just like that, he left.

OoOoOoO

I'd say that the Queen needs to speak to a confidant now: enter Queen Beatrix.

´B!´ Clarisse exclaimed when her friend materialized near the garden entrance.

´I didn't hear you! Shall we have our tea on the terrace or would you rather sit indoors? How's the weather?´

Her friend pointed at her flat shoes to explain her silent arrival. She'd seen that one of the French windows of Clarisse's office was opened and not having any bodyguards following her, she'd decided to enter the office via the terrace.

They had tea while chatting about one of the hobbies they shared: politics. Clarisse's replies were short though and she kept whirling her tea.

Beatrix mentioned her Prime Minister's habit of literally translating Dutch idioms into English: ´He told his Irish colleague _to beat two flies with one hit._´

Her friend, instead of laughing or shaking her head, rose and walked to her desk.

´He was convinced that it made sense.´

Clarisse didn't reply. She handed a sheet of paper to Beatrix.

´So he reasoned UR needed subtitling,´ Beatrix said as Clarisse placed the short love letter in her drawer again.

´He came to see me just now, bringing tea,´ Clarisse said, sitting down. ´He assured me that he'll always be my friend.´

´That is a wonderful resolution.´

´Isn't it?´

They drank their second cup of tea in silence.

´Have _I_ ever told you that I love you?´ Beatrix said.

Clarisse kissed Beatrix's cheek.

´Two declarations in one day,´ Clarisse said, trying a smile.

Beatrix pressed her friend's hand.

When Clarisse remained silent, Beatrix inhaled deeply.

´Make that three C.´

Clarisse studied her friend's face.

´Benedick,´ Beatrix said.

Clarisse's jaw dropped.

Beatrix shrugged apologetically.

´Is there any tea left?´

Deep in thought, Clarisse poured them another cup.

´What have you heard?´ Clarisse asked as she handed her friend her cup.

´Cupid was mentioned so I wanted to sneak back into the gardens. However, _someone_ thwarted my escape by opening the curtains. I pressed myself against the wall.´

´Why didn't you enter?´

´Would you have preferred that?´

Clarisse shrugged.

´Sugar?´

´You've already added it.´

Clarisse sighed.

Both she and her friend shifted to face each other, elbows resting on the back of the sofa.

´My entrance,´ Beatrix remarked, ´would have prevented him from speaking his mind. But I doubt that a man in love won't find a way to declare himself.´

Clarisse rested her head on her hand, using her other hand to draw circles on her knee.

Beatrix tried to drink her scolding hot tea.

´Why hadn't you already entered when Joseph walked in?´

´I had cramp in my foot,´ Beatrix truthfully answered.

Clarisse hummed understandingly.

´Nearly forty years of being married to a friend and now two men tell me they _love_ me one after the other.´

Beatrix put her tea down and placed the plate with muffins between them.

They both took one.

When Clarisse had finished eating she said: ´I like them. I've liked Joseph for years. And these past months I've come to appreciate Arthur Mabrey.´

´Do I hear Miss Dashwood speak?´

Clarisse took a bite out of her second muffin.

´Both gentlemen left immediately after making their declaration. It prevented you from having to reply...´ Beatrix filled the silence.

Clarisse reached for her tea.

´I _still_ don't know how to reply.´

´Do you think, my dearest Elinor, that liking and appreciating might be _translated_ into loving?´

Clarisse, feeling miserable, stared ahead.

´Even if I could already answer that question, I _can't have_ an affair B!´

´Yes you can.´

´They'll whip me!´

´Joseph and Arthur? Know there's only _one_ person who holds the cane and that's the Queen!´

´You _know_ I mean the people of Genovia!´

´The people of Genovia have a very discrete Queen,´ Beatrix said in a serious tone of voice, ´Thanks to Mr Williams and Mr Devereaux they've come to realise that she is a desirable woman and thanks to her undeserved yet convenient reputation of being icy they'll never believe she's involved in an affair.´

Clarisse thoughtfully tilted her head. Beatrix continued thinking aloud.

´_I_ think that should she appear on a picture, laughing with Arthur Mabrey or arm in arm with her Head of Security, the people of Genovia might understand that she has an admirer but they'll reason that she'll never take him to her bed.´

A knock on the door ended their private time: Queen Beatrix had to get ready to leave for France. Their Majesties didn't have a chance to continue their conversation.

OoOoOoO

Waving her Dutch friend farewell, Clarisse knew she was being observed by her Spanish friend. Her stomach felt like water and at the same time her heart was light.

How was she to act?

She inhaled deeply and turned around to do something that ran in her blood: hide her feelings and be a Queen.


	20. Pretending as if nothing ever happened

Chapter 20 – Pretending as if nothing ever happened

The declarations of love made by both Joseph and Arthur put Her Majesty in quite a predicament.

Are you shaking your head? Would _you_ know how to respond? It is easy for _you_ to say: _you're_ not facing the music...

Do you recall the train from the introduction to this story? Now imagine that a week or so after you and many other travellers got stuck in said train Mr Tobacco (who was in your compartment) bumps into you. You politely listen to his chatter and suddenly you hear him say that he's been thinking about you ever since you left the train. He invites you to have dinner with him.

´Oh, but that's not a fair comparison Marjorie Nescio!´ you'll say, ´It's not as if the Queen faced total _strangers_!´

´That is true,´ I will reply, ´but I need to make a point and exaggeration serves me well. Now: right after Mr Tobacco says _hello_, _you_ long to walk away. Have I told you that his nicotine vapour makes you sick?´

´That is not fair!´ you'll insist, ´She likes both Joe and Arthur -´

That _is_ what she said, isn't it?

_I like them. I've liked Joseph for years. And these past months I've come to appreciate Arthur Mabrey._

She also remarked: _I realised that if Joseph was in love, or even start a family, he wouldn't be around all the time. He might even leave._ Later on_ s_he added:_ I'm used to having Joseph nearby_. It's something that might remind biassed people of _I've grown accustomed to her face_. As for Arthur, the Queen _did_ look forward to dance with him. And now that I'm in a _My fair lady_ mood: Could she have danced with him all night? She _was_ oddly disappointed after the wedding. Now why would that be? May I remind you that the Viscount _didn't_ invite her to waltz with him?

When _you_ decline the invitation of Mr Tobacco, he will never enter the street where you live. It's a good thing he's not a friend...

OoOoO

´It's the fourth time you're reading that. Does Clarisse have something funny to tell?´

Queen Beatrix looked at her husband and quoted from the letter she held: ´Guess who thinks that Scandinavia is a country?´

Prince Consort Ernst was born a Dane which prevented him from recognising the rhetorical quality of the question.

´Not her minister of foreign affairs I hope?´

Beatrix shook her head.

´Here's a clue: _Despite being past menopause, it _is_ the time of the month again.´_

The look on her husband's face made Beatrix reveal: ´Fowl! Haven't I told you? Ever since that business with Notinmycountry Fowl contacts her once a month. To keep in touch with Europe.´

´Poor Clarisse,´ Ernst sighed. His wife shrugged: ´It's a dirty job but someone's got to do it.´

Ernst grinned and, struck by an idea, removed his reading glasses.

´Are you sorry that Fowl doesn't use _you_ as his European informer?´

Beatrix held up the letter: ´Through this I get part of the entertainment.´

´Yes, but you like to deal with politicians...´

His wife, who'd seated herself on the arm rest of his comfortable old chair, kissed his head.

´If people would find out...´

She sighed. After a moment she continued: ´I misjudged a situation. And Clarisse now suffers because of it.´

Ernst looked up, worried about his wife's sorrowful voice.

´You don't hold all the strings darling,´ he said as he pressed her hand.

Beatrix made a throatily sound.

´It feels as if I got a puppet dancing all right...´

´Does this puppet have a name?´

´Joseph. He's her Head of Security.´

After Beatrix told her husband what had occurred, he nodded thoughtfully.

´And now you feel guilty for your suggestion to Joseph as well as for not having told Clarisse about your meddling.´

´Exactly.´

´But you said that he would have acted himself anyway,´ Ernst said supportively.

Beatrix patted her husband's shoulder and rose.

´I'll call her.´

OoOoO

At 3.12 am Clarisse woke up, trying hard to remember a reoccurring dream.

_I woke up this morning with a smile on my face and flushed cheeks,_ she'd written B.

Last evening Beatrix had contacted her. After B's shocking revelation she'd secretly blamed her for feeling miserable and she had been short with her. After they'd broken the connection she'd thought about B's statement that Joseph, who'd scrabbled his heart out once, wouldn't have left it at a single try.

Rather than asking Joseph if her friend's idea was valid (she avoided being alone with her bodyguard ever since _that morning_), she reminded herself that Beatrix was good at reading people. B's interference hadn't worked out the way she'd hoped it would, but B had _meant_ to promote her happiness.

What was done was done.

After reaching this conclusion Clarisse had called her friend to apologize for sulking. Beatrix seemed unwilling to be forgiven so soon (she realised that when things are left unsaid they will cower in dark corners until they are to scary to handle) and she had quoted a line from Clarisse's letter that had made her feel sad ever since reading it: _If I would only have known __one__ of them and he would have told me he loved me, I would have taken the chance to see what would happen._

´What is done is do-´ Clarisse started but her voice faltered as realisation hit her like lightning.

´C?´

´Arthur would have spoken first. What if I'd _accepted_ his love and afterwards Joseph would have declared himself? Or the other way around?´

Clarisse stopped talking and not a sound came through from The Hague. Moments passed.

´It would have made me feel _worse_ than I feel now...´ Clarisse softly said.

Beatrix cleared her throat.

´You would have a_ mate_...´

´I would have hurt the other.´

´But C, you would be _loved_! Think about yourself for once!´

´I have to reject them both.´

Beatrix moaned.

´Because I can't _choose_... And I can't accept _both_ of them... I _have_ to reject them.´

The Queens talked some more and then disconnected, still being the friends they'd started to be over forty years ago.

OoOoO

Joe listened to Charlotte telling him that Her Majesty must have a headache.

´She's behind schedule with her tasks!´ the secretary whispered to prove her point.

Joe saw her glance at the tube of aspirins on her desk.

´She's got an appointment in thirty minutes hasn't she?´

Charlotte nodded.

´I will bring her that aspirin,´ Joe said. He was glad for the opportunity that presented itself.

´Oh would you Joe? Thank you!´

Joe entered the Queen's office and found her studying a document. At first she didn't notice that she wasn't alone any more. When she looked up the smile with which she normally greeted him when it was just the two of them, was nowhere to be found.

He held up the aspirin.

´I do _not_ have a headache Joseph.´

She focused on the document but he didn't have to wait long before she gave up the pretence of reading.

´Are you angry with me Clarisse? For saying what I said?´

Not trusting her voice she simply shook her head.

For some time neither of them spoke. The shrieking of a bird outside triggered Queen Clarisse to walk to a window to close it. She wasn't ready to have this discussion but she faced Joseph nonetheless and said: ´You are my _friend_ Joseph. Your sweet declaration moved me, but I-´

´You're not ready for more than friendship yet,´ Joseph suggested.

Clarisse swallowed. Oh, she'd told herself to be frank with them. She didn't have it in her to make a choice and she'd planned to firmly say 'no' to both men. But here Joseph stood: so trustworthy, so kind and sweet, so loyal and familiar.

Instead of telling him that a relationship was not to be,_ ever_, she nodded.

It was with a feeling of deja-vu that she watched Joseph step toward her and kiss her hand. She blinked.

´I will wait. I will continue to love you. And when it's friendship you offer in return, I will receive that happily.´

OoOoO

After her conversation with Joseph the Queen had Charlotte summon all spokesmen on education for a ten minutes interview each. With a proposition about elementary schools coming up in Parliament there was nothing unusual about it. Arthur Mabrey was the last MP to inform her about his party's point of view...

Queen Clarisse planned to tell him that first and foremost she had her country and her crown to consider. However, after he'd taken a seat, and they'd agreed that the weather was lovely, there was an awkward silence.

´Balthazar is doing well.´

´I'm glad to hear that.´

´I took the liberty to write down the ideas of my party concerning the proposition,´ Arthur said and he offered his Queen a sheet of paper. The warmth in his eyes unnerved her.

´Have I gone too far the other day ma'am?´

She shook her head, annoyed that she hadn't entered the subject herself.

´I can't choose,´ she heard herself say.

Cursing herself for her silliness and knowing that her words couldn't make sense to him, she quickly gestured toward her desk where piles of files screamed _Genovia needs all of your devotion_.

Arthur refrained from commenting for he didn't understand her. She eyed him expectantly though so he nodded in reply.

´And look at us,´ the Queen continued, barely knowing what her next words would be, ´we can't even meet without me setting up a series of interviews...´

What _she_ considered to be a wet blanket made _Arthur_ conclude that she longed for them to meet.

_She needs time_ he thought and tenderness overwhelmed him. He smiled understandingly, and the Queen - glad that he bore her reaction like a gentleman - allowed him to take her hand. As he bent to kiss it, she took the opportunity of not facing him to say: ´I hope this is not the end of our newly formed friendship... Arthur?´

The Viscount stiffened at first but when her voice wrapped itself around the few syllables of his name, his heart started beating faster.

´I will always be your friend Your Majesty,´ he replied, enchanted by her beautiful eyes.

She swallowed.

´Clarisse,´ she offered.

Arthur merely had time for a replying smile (and a radiant smile it was) when a phone rang. To recollect herself the Queen rose, explaining that it was her 'red' line. Arthur, rising also, inclined his head.

He ignored her gesture to sit down again. By now he grasped that the Queen, nay: Clarisse, oh fair sweet Clarisse! - planned to offer him friendship only, and he wanted to escape that verdict. He politely took his leave. On his way back to the House of Parliament he reasoned that under the guise of friendship hearts can be melted. (For your information: his rival thinks likewise.)

The Queen missed a remark by the German Chancellor as she admitted to herself that for the second time a man she'd planned to reject had misunderstood her.

But let me tell you dear reader that she can't have been _completely_ unhappy with her approach for she made no new attempt to destroy her admirers' hope by -how had she put it?- _firmly saying 'no'_... She was confident that her behaviour would clarify that she wanted friendship only.

...

...

Author's note (September 2012): I have a handful of stories that need to be finished and _The elevator_ is one of them. Thank you for reading it despite knowing that the last update for this story was quite some time ago. I haven't forgotten about the Queen, Joe and Arthur so one day there ought to be a brand new chapter.


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